ALMOND-BLOSSOM 


By  the  same  Author 

BELONGING 

CONQUEST 

FRAILTY 

POSSESSION 

THE  FLAME 

INSTEAD 

PAYMENT 

STOLEN  HOURS 

NEVERTHELESS 

REALITY 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

BY 

OLIVE  WADSLEY 

Author  of  "Belonging"  "Conquest"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
1921 


Copyright  1921 
By  DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY,  INC. 

First  printing.  Oct.  1921 
Second  printing,  Nov.  1921 


PRINTED  IN  THB   U.  S.  A. 


To 
NEWMAN  FLOWER 


2138821 


BOOK  I 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM 


CHAPTER  I 

"  //  is  something  to  have  smelt  the  mystic  rose, 
Although  it  break  and  leave  the  thorny  rods. 
It  is  something  to  have  hungered  once  as  those 
Must  hunger  who  have  ate  the  bread  of  gods" 

G.  K.  CHESTERTON 

WHEN  he  had  quite  finished  breakfast,  which 
he  ate  contentedly,  and  did  not  compare 
disparagingly  with  the  set  meal  he  would 
have  had  at  home,  but,  instead,  drank  the  really 
excellent  coffee  and  consumed  rolls  and  confiture  in 
large  quantities,  Rexford  strolled  out  from  under 
the  shade  of  the  pink  and  white  tasselled  awning 
and  surveyed  the  day. 

It  was  a  day  worthy  of  observation — a  golden 
and  blue  day,  a  day  of  crystalline  clearness  and 
etched  shadows,  so  white  was  the  sunshine;  a  day 
unquestionably,  in  Eexford's  opinion,  in  which  "to 
do  something."  Days  generally  meant  that  to  him, 
specially  in  a  town  where  the  "doing"  consisted  in 
getting  out  of  it,  and  if  Pago  was  not  exactly  a 
town,  it  was  a  place  of  streets,  and  as  such,  meet  to 
be  left. 

Rexford  lit  a  cigarette  from  a  tiny  lighter  and, 


4  ALMONDJ3LOSSOM 

true  to  type,  looked  round  for  a  dog,  and  in  looking 
round,  had  an  instant's  vision  of  the  courtyard  of 
his  own  place,  with  the  kennel-man  grooming  one  of 
the  terriers,  preferably  Mck,  as  Mck  was  Rexford's 
best-beloved. 

Still  visioning  Nick's  amber  eyes  and  exactly 
"right"  coat  and  build,  Rexford  strolled  back  into 
the  hotel  and  up  to  his  wife's  room. 

He  walked  with  that  very  slight  swing  of  the 
shoulders  and  even  slighter  looseness  of  gait  which 
is  so  sure  a  betrayal  of  an  athlete,  and  as  he  waited 
for  a  moment  after  his  knock,  he  loomed  very  large 
indeed  against  the  white-painted,  narrow  door. 

Francesca  was  drinking  her  chocolate  in  bed, 
reading  Rexford's  letters  for  him,  and  planning  his 
day. 

He  kissed  her  hair,  which  was  enchanting,  and 
tied  back  like  a  little  girl's  with  a  big  ribbon-bow, 
let  himself  down  carefully  into  a  frail  wicker  chair 
which  groaned  at  him,  stretched,  smiled  at  Fran- 
cesca, and  said : 

"Well,  what  about  it?" 

He  had  made  just  that  same  remark  every  morn- 
ing during  the  tour,  and  Francesca  had  always  met 
his  need  by  letting  him  drive  her  to  the  place  she 
thought  he  would  like  best,  where  he  could  either 
swim,  or  fish,  or  shoot,  or,  at  least,  watch  others 
engaged  in  some  relatively  arduous  sport. 

Those  friends  of  Francesca  who  delighted  to  lay 
claim  to  that  disturbing  oddness  known  as  "  perfect 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  5 

frankness "  (the  last  characteristic  which  should 
deserve  this  celestial  qualification,  having  regard 
to  its  effect  on  those  who  unwillingly  receive  its 
benefit!)  often  told  her  she  "managed"  Tony. 

Francesca  used  to  listen  to  them  and  smile,  and 
relate  their  comment  to  Tony,  and  laugh. 

Tony  laughed  the  louder. 

In  point  of  fact  Francesca  loved  her  husband ;  she 
had  fallen  in  love  with  him  at  once,  and  though  she 
was  quite  aware  that  he  was,  perhaps,  not  very 
"  quick,"  and  that  many  people  thought  him  heavy, 
whilst  she  agreed  with  them,  she  liked  his  heaviness, 
just  as  she  liked  his  fair  hair,  well  watered  down  in 
the  morning  and  before  dinner,  but  apt  to  become 
less  sleek  towards  mid-afternoon,  just  as  she  liked 
his  blue  eyes  and  obstinate,  boyish  mouth  and  his 
whole  air  of  strength  and  bigness. 

This  morning,  in  the  filtered  light  of  her  room, 
he  looked  bigger  than  ever  in  his  thin,  white  suit. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  Miguel,  the 
waiter,  came  in  holding  an  armful  of  yellow  roses 
and  beaming  widely;  he  broke  into  a  torrent  of 
speech,  descriptive  of  his  own  prowess  in  obtaining 
the  flowers,  their  beauty,  the  beauty  of  the  noble 
Excelentisima,  his  wife,  and  of  the  generosity  of 
the  Excellency  himself. 

Bexford  lifted  an  eyebrow,  handed  the  man  five 
pesetas,  and  said : 

"  Give  'em  here,  will  you?  Thanks."  He  held  out 
the  roses  to  Francesca :  "  I  was  afraid  I  mightn't 


6  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

get  the  right  ones — yellow,   y'know.    Of  course, 
others  wouldn't  have  been  the  same." 

He  rose  and  sat  down  on  the  bed  beside  her,  and 
they  both  laughed ;  he  slid  an  arm  round  her. 

"  Tragedy  if  that  comic  opera  little  chap  hadn't 
been  able  to  get  'em,  wouldn't  it  have  been,  darling, 
to-day  of  all  days?" 

His  wife  put  up  a  white  arm,  drew  down  his  head 
and  kissed  him. 

"You  have  the  loveliest  ideas,  Tony,"  she  said 
very  gently,  keeping  his  face  to  hers. 

Kexford  beamed. 

"  Oh,  I  dunno,"  he  said  in  the  happy  voice  of  the 
really  assured,  "  but  getting  married  to  anyone  like 
you  takes  a  bit  of  forgetting,  darling,  y'know.  I  say, 
Fay,  I  can  remember  to-day  how  damn  nervous  I 
felt  waiting  for  you  to  come  up  the  aisle !  It  seemed 
an  age,  I  can  tell  you,  and  when  you  did  come  you 
looked  such  a  little  kid,  you  made  me  feel  shy, 
almost  frightened  of  you,  as  if  I'd  no  right  to  have 
you  at  all." 

He  sat  up  and  lit  a  cigarette  and  gave  it  to 
Francesca,  then  added,  lighting  his  own : 

"  Y'know,  darling,  it  seems  pretty  good  to  me  to 
sit  like  this  with  you ;  as  good  as  ten  years  ago  in 
one  way.  I  say,  you  seem  pretty  silent,  old  lady; 
anything  up?  " 

Francesca  gave  a  shaky  little  laugh : 

"  Nothing,  parole  d'honneur ;  but  you  must  allow 
a  wife  to  be  touched  by  such  an  offering  on  the  tenth 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  7 

anniversary  of  her  wedding  day !  Some  husbands, 
my  dear,  instead  of  buying  golden  roses,  are  scan- 
ning their  passbooks  to  see  if  they  can  afford  a 
divorce  by  that  time !  " 

Bexford  laughed. 

"Only  the  wrong  sort,  old  girl.  Question  of  a 
sense  of  values,  or  no  sense,  rather,  in  the  begin- 
ning." 

He  rose,  and  straightened  his  tie  before  the 
mirror. 

"  I  don't  want  to  brag  about  my  brilliance,  Fay, 
y'know,  but  you'll  own  I  knew  a  good  thing  when 
I  saw  it !  " 

He  strolled  back  to  the  bed  and  stood  smiling 
down  at  her. 

"  If  you  were  thinking  of  getting  up ?  " 

"  Darling,  at  once.  Call  Mathilde  for  me,  will 
you,  as  you  go  out?  Her  door's  the  next  but  one  on 
the  right.  But,  Tony,  just  a  minute — come  here." 

He  turned  back. 

"  No,  here-r — here-esf  then ! " 

He  stood  beside  her  again,  a  little  mystified ;  she 
held  out  a  hand  to  him. 

"  Kneel  down,  darling,  you're  so  far  away.  And 
don't  look  so  frightened ;  no  one  is  going  to  do  any- 
thing to  you !  Tony " 

"  Yes,  old  girl,  what  is  it?  "  His  puzzled  eyes 
met  hers  unwaveringly. 

She  drew  his  head  suddenly  close  against  her, 
shoulder. 


8  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Tony,  you  have  been  so  endlessly  dear ;  you  say 
— you  have  said  this  morning — things  which  have 
reached  my  heart  and,  in  a  way,  hurt  it.  No,  don't 
move,  I  don't  mean  hurt  in  one  sense.  It  was  your 
last  remark  about  values.  Oh,  darling,  have  you  had 
such  a  return ;  don't  you  ever  regret,  ever  think  it's 
rather — rather  hard  luck  when  Charles  comes  with 
the  boys?" 

Rexford  forced  up  his  head  from  under  her 
restraining  hand. 

"  Now  look  here,"  he  said  strongly,  "  I  do  not, 
never  have  'thought/  as  you  call  it,  or  regretted  I 
took  you  hunting  that  time.  We  both  believed  it 
was  all  right,  and  the  most  tremendous  bit  of  luck 
of  all  my  life  was  when  the  doctors  told  me  you'd 
live  after  the  accident.  Listen  to  me,  Fay,  and 
believe  this :  a  man  doesn't  care  a  damn  about  any- 
thing but  his  wife  when  it's  her  life  or  anyone 
else's  in  the  question.  The  choice  is  certain, 
inevitable,  you  simply  don't  choose;  it's  a  fact,  a 
part  of  life,  because  she's  a  part  of  your  own  life. 
As  for  Charles  and  the  boys,  I  dunno  I've  ever  seen 
a  boy  much  more  of  a  sport  than  young  Charles, 
and  if  you  labour  under  the  delusion  that  I  spend 
my  life  longing  for  the  unattainable,  it  may  interest 
you  to  learn,  old  girl,  that  I  scarcely  ever  think 
of  it!" 

He  rose,  picked  up  her  white  silk  peignoir  and 
held  it  out. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  9 

She  slipped  into  it,  and  he  stood  for  a  moment 
holding  her  so  in  his  arms. 

Then  he  released  her. 

"All  right,  now?" 

"Absolutely." 

He  tightened  his  hold  of  her,  laughing  down  at 
her. 

"Nothin'  but  a  baby  sometimes,  are  you,  what? 
Get  a  move  on  with  your  dressing  now,  won't  you? 
I'm  off  to  buy  some  of  those  native  cigarettes  as  an 
experiment;  they're  like  young  cigars,  and  pretty 
strong,  I  should  think." 

Francesca  heard  him  go  downstairs,  pause  for  a 
moment  in  the  hall,  then,  from  the  window,  she 
watched  him  stroll  down  the  uneven  little  street. 

"  Darling,  darling  liar,"  she  whispered. 

And  to  himself  Kexf ord  was  saying : 

"  I  did  that  thundering  well ;  she  never  had  the 
faintest  notion  I  was  bluffing !  And  Fay's  absolutely 
one  of  the  best.  It's  simply  rough  luck  on  us,  that's 
all,  and  it's  no  good  grousing.  Young  Charles  will 
do  the  place  credit,  that's  a  comfort." 

He  thought,  as  he  walked  along,  that  Spain 
seemed  a  country  of  which  babies  appeared  to  ap- 
prove ;  they  swarmed  on  every  doorstep ;  each  dusty 
gutter  was  someone's  royal  kingdom. 

A  child  toddled  up  to  him,  skilled  already,  at  the 
ripe  age  of  three  or  four,  in  the  art  of  appeal,  and 
begged  urgently. 

Kexford  burst  out  laughing,  gave  the  baby  a 


10  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

peseta,  and  listened  to  a  fluent  flow  of  thanks.  But 
other  babies  had  watched  the  luck  of  this  favoured 
pioneer;  they  made  a  bee-line  for  Rexford,  and 
whilst  the  unsteady  clutched  his  trousers  as  a  sup- 
port, the  older  ones  clung  to  his  hands,  and  his  ears 
were  assailed  by  torrential  lisping. 

"  Well,  I  dunno ! "  he  said,  smiling  down  at  his 
exigent  adorers.  "  Here,  catch,  you  infant  pirates !  " 

He  flung  a  handful  of  small  coins  to  them, 
watched  them  scramble,  of  course  compensated  the 
luckless,  and  then  walked  on  in  search  of  his 
cigarettes. 

He  wondered,  for  the  hundredth  time,  "what 
Fay  would  say  "  to  adopting  a  little  kid  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing?  and,  facing  the  truth  to  himself,  to 
give  life  that  interest  which  it  lacked  for  him ;  yet, 
not  for  an  instant  would  he  have  dreamt  of  hinting 
at  this  idea. 

It  recurred  again  and  again  though,  whilst  he 
loitered  in  the  sunshine  waiting  for  Francesca,  and 
watched  the  apparently  endless  families  possessed 
by  every  self-respecting  Spaniard  disporting  them- 
selves in  the  warm  dust. 

Some  men  are  born  with  the  protective  instinct  of 
paternity ;  it  is  sufficiently  rare  to  find  a  man  who 
is  not  fond  of  children ;  but  there  are  men  in  whom 
this  feeling  is  a  profound  quality,  and  who  stand  in 
a  finer  relationship  to  life  by  reason  of  this  quality 
than  any  other  they  possess. 

In  this  category  heredity  and  choice  had  placed 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  11 

Rexford,  and  his  inclusion  made  Mm  a  good  land- 
lord, a  perfect  uncle,  and  a  chivalrous  soul,  and,  as 
well,  deny  the  fact  as  he  might,  a  dissatisfied  man. 

Paradoxically,  the  quality  which  spurred  his 
nature  to  discontent  was  the  very  one  which  pre- 
vented his  voicing  that  discontent,  for  that  protec- 
tiveness,  which  was  one  of  the  strongest  tenets  of 
his  creed,  was  naturally  a  keenest  influence  with 
regard  to*  Francesca,  and  whatever  joy  a  certain 
course  of  action  might  afford  Tony,  he  would  never 
mention  it  to  Francesca,  because  he  knew  quite  well 
that  it  would  hurt  her,  however  she  might  dis- 
semble to  him. 

He  was  not  a  particularly  unselfish  man ;  simply 
he  loved  his  wife;  she  was  his  own. 

She  came  down  on  to  the  veranda  now  and  waved 
to  him  with  a  white  sunshade. 

In  the  searching  sunshine  she  looked  about 
twenty-four.  In  reality,  she  was  thirty-four;  but 
she  had  that  extremely  English  complexion  which 
seems  neither  to  fade  nor  thicken,  and  that  hair 
which  is  like  both  ashes  and  gold,  palely  golden 
hair.  She  had  always  been  called  beautiful;  as  a 
matter  of  fact  she  was  an  extremely  pretty  woman, 
who  was  very  beautifully  cared  for ;  a  woman  who 
possessed  the  gift  of  appearance,  and  who  would 
have  seemed  chic  had  she  been  poor.  She  was  slen- 
der to  the  verge  of  thinness,  and  dressed,  therefore, 
ito  add  to  the  first  effect  and  conceal  the  latter. 


12  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Kexford  crossed  to  her  and  put  up  the  white, 
green-lined  sunshade. 

"  I've  ordered  the  car,"  Francesca  told  him, 
pulling  on  loose  wash-leather  gloves.  "  We'll  go  to 
the  river,  don't  you  think,  and  perhaps  we  might 
get  a  bathe  after  lunch?  I've  had  our  suits  packed." 

"  Oh,  splendid,"  Kexford  said. 

The  car  came  round  as  he  spoke;  a  touring  car 
with  the  hood  up  because  of  the  heat. 

Kexford  always  drove  himself ;  motoring  in  every 
detail  was  a  passion  with  him;  and  one  of  which  he 
never  tired.  When  he  was  not  in  one  of  his  cars  he 
was  probably  about  it,  or  under  it,  a  pipe  glued 
between  his  teeth,  and  a  hoarse,  hissing  noise 
accompanying  his  labours;  the  car  was  always 
alluded  to  with  affection  as  "  she,"  and  "  her " 
actions  and  virtues  occupied  much  space  in  Rex- 
ford's  conversation.  The  Spanish  tour  had  been 
partly  (and  most  enjoyably)  spent  in  tinkering  up 
the  quite  perfect  Rolls  each  day  after  its  trials  and 
tribulations  over  the  worst  roads  probably  in 
Europe. 

All  Rexford's  servants  adored  him.  Carvel,  the 
chauffeur,  who  had,  it  was  understood,  passed  in- 
tricate examinations  in  motor-engineering,  would 
bridle  with  pleasure  whenRexford  argued  with  him, 
quite  wrongly,  on  some  technical  point,  and  mur- 
mur: "Yes,  my  lord,"  for  the  sheer  pleasure  of 
receiving  his  master's  attention. 

He  settled  in  the  back  now  whilst  Rexford  took 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  13 

'the  wheel,  and  after  walking  the  car  through  the 
village  children,  let  it  out  on  the  Seville  road.  As 
they  rushed  along  Francesea  noticed  that  the  aloe 
trees  were  in  full  flower ;  they  held  themselves  with 
dauntless,  upright  splendour  despite  the  menace  of 
the  dust;  occasionally  a  shrine  was  visible;  one 
shone  out  by  reason  of  a  wreath  of  orange  blossom 
some  worshipper  had  placed  upon  the  cross,  where 
it  glowed  in  the  white  sunshine  like  a  living  crown 
of  stars. 

Oxen-drawn  carts,  leisurely  affairs  which  zig- 
zagged about,  trailed  peacefully  along  the  road, 
their  drivers  refusing,  with  bovine  obstinacy,  to 
hurry,  in  spite  of  Kexford's  "  free  speech,"  the  irate 
Carvel's  infuriated  adjuration,  and  Francesca's 
laughter. 

"  It's  so  nice  to  slow  up,  then  one  can  really  see 
things,"  she  explained  to  Eexford,  whose  face  was 
set  in  lines  of  resigned,  yet  savage  irritation ;  that 
expression  common  to  those  true  motorists  who  get 
into  a  car  for  the  purpose  of  getting  out  of  it  again 
in  the  shortest  possible  space  of  time,  and  who 
expect,  nay  demand,  that  any  obstruction  in  their 
road  shall  also  "  get  out "  likewise  in  record  time. 
To  these  ardent  pace-makers  the  car,  as  a  vehicle 
for  sight-seeing,  for  casual  enjoyment  of  the  sum- 
mer breeze,  simply  is  not.  To  them,  to  slow  down  is 
a  grievance;  to  stop,  for  any  purpose  save  that  of 
arrival,  anathema. 


14  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

The  orchestra  of  Heaven  might  have  played  music 
of  exultant  sweetness  above  the  bonnet,  but  to  such 
a  car-lover  as  Rexford,  one  rhythmic  "  purr  "  of  a 
"  just-so  "  engine  would  have  been  far  more  beauti- 
ful than  any  celestial  strain,  and  the  cries  of  the 
tortured  damned  would  have  moved  him  far  less 
than  one  squeak  from  a  nut  which  needed  oil. 

Francesca,  aware  of  this  outlook,  made  no  effort 
to  oppose  it;  she  knew  better  than  to  distract  an 
absorbed  mind  by  any  allusion  to  the  beauty  of 
Nature,  or  to  show  a  desire  to  discuss  any  topic 
save  the  "  going  "  of  the  car. 

Upon  their  arrival  at  Barazio,  and  when  he  had 
made  a  preliminary  but  searching  inspection  of  the 
car,  Tony  would  again  become  his  usual  pleasant 
self.  After  he  had,  in  all  probability,  delivered  a 
spirited  and  abstruse  monologue  on  the  good  be- 
haviour of  the  car  as  evidenced  by  the  drive,  touched 
lightly  on  any  feat  of  steering  afforded  him  by  the 
obstructive  and  accursed  traffic,  and  generally  given 
a  technical  word  sketch  of  the  engine's  prowess  at 
every  milestone  of  the  road,  he  would  ask  Fran- 
cesca  if  she  had  not  enjoyed  the  country  through 
which  they  had  passed.  This,  save  for  isolated 
moments  when  a  goat,  an  ox,  or  any  two-footed, 
equally  infamous  idiot  (bent,  apparently,  upon 
speedy  suicide)  had  held  up  their  progress,  had 
been  to  Francesca,  by  reason  of  the  amazing  speed, 
merely  an  indistinguishable  blur  of  dust,  and  green- 
and-yellow  patches,  which  custom  and  instinct  had 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  15 

helped  her  to  recognize  as  fields,  and  which  (having 
.due  regard  to  the  obligations  of  matrimony)  she 
had  accepted  as  a  "view,"  and  would  then  dilate 
[upon  as  "charming  scenery  "  to  Tony. 

To-day  proved  no  exception  to  the  rule :  Tony  got 
|out,  helped  Francesca,  and  instantly  bent  over  the 
car  in  an  attitude  which  displayed  at  once  the 
excellent  fit  of  his  suit,  and  enabled  him  to  peer  into 
the  recesses  of  the  engine;  Carvel  hovered  about 
him,  and  both  men  murmured  darkly  to  one  another. 

Francesca  strolled  into  the  hotel,  a  little  inn-like 
place,  with  the  same  vine-covered  veranda  and  pink 
walls  and  little  stained  tables  as  the  Pago  place, 
and  ordered  luncheon,  and  in  due  course  Tony 
joined  her,  clamouring  as  usual  for  a  wash,  a  drink, 
and  his  food. 

He  came  back  to  the  veranda  very  shortly, 
favoured  Francesca  with  his  views  on  the  drive,  as 
per  schedule,  and  then,  having  filled  his  glass,  asked 
heartily : 

"  Enjoyed  it,  old  girl?  Like  the  scenery?  " 

Francesca  mentioned  the  aloe  trees,  the  dust,  the 
shrine,  and  Tony  grunted  appreciably.  When  he 
had  finished  an  excellent  lunch,  he  suggested,  the 
car  being  now  housed  in  a  shed  and  its  rest  guarded 
by  the  faithful  Carvel,  that  they  should  "  look  over  " 
the  place  before  driving  out  to  the  river  for  their 
swim. 

They  strolled  together  down  the  main  street,  both 


16  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

\ 

smoking  cigarettes,  Francesca's  hand  linked  in 
Tony's  elbow. 

The  street  was  silent,  ice-cool,  sun-hot,  as  the 
houses  let  in  the  light  or  obstructed  it.  Like  so  many 
Cordovan  towns,  the  place  gave  a  strange  impres- 
sion of  aloofness,  of  chill,  half -contemptuous  indif- 
ference to  modernity  and  its  claims. 

These  towns  seem  never  to  lose  entirely  the  effect 
of  their  ancient  Eastern  rule — a  rule  at  once  more 
subtle  and  more  ruthless  than  any  other;  it  seems 
as  if  a  faint  imprint  of  that  sinister  influence  still 
lingers;  there  are  still  echoes  of  savage,  stifled 
feuds,  smothered  cries,  inexorable  yet  hidden  tyran- 
nies, trifling  yet  significant  echoes  of  the  centuries- 
dead  omnipotence. 

"  Rum  old  place,"  Tony  said,  as  halting  before  the 
church  of  San  Pablo  he  stared  up  at  it  gravely, 
shutting  his  eyes  for  an  instant  against  the  dazzling 
effect  made  by  the  sunshine  striking  the  black  and 
white  tiles  of  the  roof. 

"  Let's  go  in,"  Francesca  said  suddenly. 

"  All  right." 

They  threw  away  their  cigarettes,  and  Tony 
pushed  open  a  small  door;  before  it  there  hung  a 
heavy  leather  curtain,  and  as  he  held  it  for  Fran- 
cesca to  pass  in,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  a  visible  cool 
peace  met  her  gently. 

She  sat  just  inside  the  church  and  Tony  stood 
behind  her. 

The  sun  was  pouring  through  one  small  window, 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  17 

and  its  spear  of  goldenness  was  thick  inset  with 
gorgeous  green  and  scarlet  and  purple  jewels  from 
the  coloured  glass. 

No  one  was  in  the  church  save  their  two  selves ; 
it  was  very,  very  dark  and  chill  and  austere,  and 
yet,  it  seemed  to  Prancesca,  kindly. 

Near  by  was  an  altar  to  the  Virgin,  and  Fran- 
cesca  deciphered  the  words  engraved  on  the  stone 
railing,  behind  which  the  candles  burnt  high  and 
clear  in  the  still  air :  "  For  those  we  love." 

She  slipped  a  hand  into  Tony's  pocket  and  took 
out  some  money  and  went  across  to  the  little  shrine 
and  bought  candles  and  lit  them. 

Tony  watched  her;  like  every  other  man  of  his 
type  he  did  not  "  think  much  about  religion " ; 
indeed  it  is  probable  he  never  deliberately  thought 
of  it,  but  he  believed  in  it  nevertheless ;  he  classed  it 
inevitably  in  his  mind  with  the  stability  of  the 
Empire  to  which  he  had  the  honour  to  belong,  and 
all  enduring  "  country  "  things — the  soil,  freshness 
and  rain. 

But,  for  one  instant,  his  eyes  on  Francesca's  bent, 
slender  form,  the  faint  mist  of  goldenness  visible 
beneath  her  hat,  imagery  touched  his  mind. 

He  went  forward  and  knelt  beside  her,  remem- 
bering indistinctly,  and  yet  rather  poignantly,  their 
marriage,  the  child's  death,  their  home,  their  life 
together. 

Francesca  smiled  at  him,  and  he  put  an  arm 
about  her  and  drew  her  up. 


18  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Out  in  the  sunshine,  back  to  normality  again,  he 
gave  a  quick  sigh;  he  was  grateful  for  normality 
and  the  sunshine  and  the  lizard  strolling,  for  once, 
in  Francesea's  direction. 

"  Let's  get  a  move  on,  shall  we?  "  he  asked. 

He  glanced  at  Francesca  as  he  walked  beside  her ; 
the  day  had  held  one  or  two  pretty  "stiff"  mo- 
ments, their  talk  that  morning,  then  this  church 
business.  He  said : 

"  I  say,  Fay,  we  shall  have  to  celebrate  to-night, 
y'know.  Get  some  decent  champagne  from  some- 
where, and  you  must  tog  up,  old  girl,  do  your 
damnedest ! " 

Francesca  understood  exactly  why  he  seemed 
rather  more  robustly  ordinary  than  usual;  she 
agreed  to  his  suggestions  gaily,  and  by  the  time 
they  reached  the  inn,  Tony  had  lost  his  sense  of 
"little  shadows,"  as  she  had  fully  meant  he 
should  do. 

They  raced  off  again,  of  course,  this  time  in  the 
direction  of  the  river,  which,  at  the  pace  they  went, 
they  reached  most  speedily. 

It  glittered  gorgeously  before  them,  shining  like 
a  chain  of  emeralds  set  in  silver. 

Unfortunately,  however,  the  bank  afforded  no 
shelter  at  all,  though  they  ran  along  it  for  some 
miles ;  then,  in  the  distance,  a  rough  tent  appeared. 

"  That'll  do,"  Tony  said,  "  we'll  pay  'em  to  let 
us  use  it." 

But  "upon  arrival  the  tent  proved  to  be  empty, 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  19 

though  a  litter  of  household  things,  and  a  string  of 
washing  outside,  testified  to  the  fact  it  had  been 
occupied  that  morning. 

Tony  peered  in. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said,  withdrawing  his  head ; 
"  bit  of  a  frowst,  but  you  needn't  be  in  there  long. 
Cut  on  in  now,  and  if  anyone  turns  up  before  you're 
ready,  I'll  speak  'em  fair." 

Francesca  slid  out  of  her  clothes  very  swiftly,  and 
into  her  bathing  suit;  she  stepped  on  to  the  sand, 
which  struck  hot  through  her  sandals  just  as  Tony 
plunged  into  the  water  and  shouted  to  her  that  it 
was  "  topping — icy  cold — ripping." 

He  swam  magnificently ;  he  was  already  far  down 
stream  by  the  time  Francesca  had  made  a  dozen 
strokes. 

A  bridge,  a  rough  stone  affair,  low  bending,  un- 
even, crossed  the  river  a  few  hundred  yards  away. 
Fony  had  nearly  reached  it  when  Francesca  heard 
him  shout  and  saw  him  dive,  come  up,  and  dive 
again;  and  then  she  saw,  on  the  bridge,  rocking 
herself  in  frenzy  of  emotion,  a  woman,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  (the  whole  episode  was  one  of  two 
minutes  perhaps),  Tony  reappeared,  his  fair  head 
close  to  another  smaller  head,  swimming  over  hand, 
and  making  for  the  bank. 

Francesca  swam  in  too,  and  ran  towards  him, 
catching  up  her  bathing  wrap  as  she  ran. 

Tony  was  already  on  his  knees  beside  a  child,  a 
mere  baby  of  two  or  three,  and  was  attempting  arti- 


20  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

ficial  respiration;  Francesca  knew  the  movements; 
she,  too,  knelt  down,  and  helped  to  work  the  tiny 
arms;  she  was  conscious,  as  the  blinding  sunshine 
fastened  on  her  back  like  a  blister,  of  an  incessant 
noise,  and  once  she  looked  up  and  saw  the  baby's 
mother  weeping  uncontrollably,  and  between  her 
sobs  imploring  each  saint  by  name  to  save  her  little 
one,  and  a  youth — expostulating,  swearing,  sobbing, 
too — standing  beside  her. 

"  Not — much— rgood — 'f  raid "  Tony  gasped  at 

last,  straightening  up  a  little,  and  thrusting  back 
the  hair  from  his  forehead.  "Bad  luck  indeed — 
hoped  we'd  save  the  poor  little  beggar !  " 

And  just  then  the  baby  opened  the  greenest  eyes 
Prancesca  had  ever  seen,  and  smiled  deliberately  at 
Tony,  meeting  his  glance  with  a  sort  of  steady 
delight,  seeming  by  that  radiant  smile  to  acknowl- 
edge his  help  and  make  further  claim  on  him  in  one. 

Tony  sat  back  and  roared  with  laughter,  and 
Francesca  bent  over  the  baby  and  worked  on  it 
again  until  it  protested  unsmilingly  and  vehe- 
mently. 

The  parents  came  forward  and  burst  into  ecstatic 
thanks,  to  which  Tony  mumbled  self-consciously: 
"All  right— all  right!" 

His  voice  seemed  to  have  a  restraining  influence 
on  the  baby,  which  had  been  crying  stormily  in  its 
mother's  arms;  it  stopped  as  he  spoke,  and  again 
that  gorgeous  green-eyed  smile  appeared,  made 
specially  for  Tony,  smiled  only  at  Tony. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  21 

"  You  rum  little  devil ! "  he  said  to  it.  And  to 
Fay:  "  I  say,  it's  rather  a  jolly  baby,  what?  " 

"  She  recognizes  her  rescuer ;  she  knows  you,  any- 
way, Tony,"  Francesca  answered. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  believe  she  does,"  Tony  said. 
"  What's  her  name?  "  he  asked  the  mother. 

"  Dolores  Juana,  senor." 

"  Is  it,  by  Jove !  Well " — he  advanced  and  lifted 
one  tiny  hand — "well,  Dolores  Juana,  here's  to  a 
future  meeting." 

The  mother  urged  him  with  a  languishing  glance, 
and  Dolores  played  her  trump  card — she  smiled. 

Tony,  grinning  a  little,  kissed  her. 

Of  course  Francesca  had  seen  him  kiss  children 
before,  as  men  do  kiss  them,  rather  solemnly,  and 
with  a  countenance  expressive  of  relief,  when  the 
deed  is  well  accomplished;  but  somehow,  seeing 
Tony  looking  as  he  looked  at  the  moment,  absurdly 
boyish,  with  his  hair  still  ruffled  from  the  water,  and 
clad  in  his  bathing  suit,  an  indescribable  sensation 
stirred  in  her  heart;  it  was  as  if  something  had 
closed  down  on  it,  and,  holding  it  captive,  forced  it 
forward  to  accept  a  realization.  In  that  instant, 
(without  quite  knowing  that  she  did  so,  yet  aware 
»f  its  advent  in  her  mind,  she  presaged  the  future. 
All  that  happened  after  that  golden  afternoon  was 
ibut  a  fulfilment  of  that  first  intuition. 

The  sway  exercised  by  that  sixth  sense  faded 
quickly;  Francesca  bade  farewell  to  the  mother, 
kissed  the  baby  too,  Tony  plunged  into  the  river  and 


22  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

swam  to  the  car;  in  half  an- hour  they  were  ready. 
As  Francesca  turned  to  leave  the  tent,  the  habitual 
dwelling-place,  it  appeared,  of  the  parents  of  Do- 
lores Juana,  she  heard  Tony's  voice  in  obvious  con- 
verse with  the  lady  of  the  smile  herself.  His  con- 
versation consisted  of  alternate  "  Hullo's !  "  and 
"Bum  little  devil's,"  with  laughter  at  frequent 
intervals,  overtures  to  friendship  much  appreciated 
by  the  baby,  apparently,  since  Francesca  could  hear 
a  funny  little  chuckle,  and  when  she  went  out  of 
the  tent,  found  Dolores  Juana  seated  comfortably 
on  Tony's  knee,  gripping  the  lapel  of  his  blazer  and 
nearly  asleep. 

Her  eyes  closed  as  Francesca  appeared;  Tony 
looked  up  with  an  expression  of  amused  ques- 
tioning. 

"  Eather  done  me  this  time,"  he  whispered. 

Francesca  stood  above  the  two  of  them,  and  again 
that  bitter  contraction  of  her  heart  made  her  wince. 

"  Oh,  don't  bother,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  she  forced 
to  be  light ;  "  I'll  call  the  mother.  We'll  start  for 
home,  I  think.  It's  been  rather  a  strenuous  after- 
noon, hasn't  it?  " 

She  was  sickeningly  aware  that  Tony's  seraphic 
expression  changed  to  one  of  apologetic  anxiety; 
he  rose  to  his  feet  instantly,  holding  the  baby  as 
carefully  as  he  could  and  walked  towards  the 
mother,  and  gave  it  into  her  arms. 

The  girl  curtsied  and  broke  into  a  torrent  of 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  23 

exaggerated   gratitude,    but   the   young   husband 
scowled. 

Francesca  called :  "  I'm  ready,  Tony !  "  Carvel 
brought  the  car  nearer. 

Tony  thrust  a  hand  into  a  pocket  and  drew  out  a 
note.  He  pushed  it  very  gently  into  the  baby's  hand. 

"  You  get  her  something,"  he  said  to  the  mother. 
"  Good-bye." 

The  father,  softened  by  the  contemplation  of 
Tony's  gift,  asked  with  the  ready  effusion  of  the 
skilled  idler,  to  whom  pleasantness  is  an  asset: 
"  The  senor  is  of  course  a  father?  One  sees  how 
he  loves  children ! " 

Francesca  heard  Tony  say :  "  No,  I  have  no  chil- 
dren." And  instantly  the  mother  of  Dolores  broke 
into  a  torrent  of  commiseration,  checked  suddenly 
by  the  inspiration  that  "  the  senor  and  his  lovely 
senora  might  perhaps  be  on  their  honeymoon !  " 

Tony's  confession  of  the  actual  celebration  of  the 
day  brought  a  murmur  of  wonder,  of  concern ;  it  all 
seemed  to  Francesca  grotesquely  arch,  and  yet 
painful. 

Then,  distinctly,  she  heard  the  young  man  say : 

"  The  senor  should  adopt  a  little  one."  And  at 
once  Tony's  head  veered  round  a  little  way  in  Fran- 
cesca's  direction ;  she  could  see  his  face  and  the  dark 
smiling  face  of  the  other  man  and  Dolores  Juana 
smiling. 

Tony  was  speaking;  she  could  not  hear  what  he 
said,  but  she  knew — oh !  she  knew ! 


24  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  was  suggesting  that  of  course  Dolores — such 
a  baby  could  not  be  parted  with ;  then,  afraid  of  his 
daring,  he  would  retreat. 

He  did ;  he  came  towards  her  now,  his  face  a  little 
flushed,  a  little  self-conscious. 

"  Time  we  were  moving.  Sorry  I  kept  you.  Those 
peasants  were  talking  to  me.  Mce  woman,  the 
mother.  They  must  marry  precious  young  here; 
they've  six  children  already,  besides  that  baby,  and 
she  only  looks  about  twenty ! " 

He  busied  himself  with  the  car  for  a  moment, 
gave  Francesca  his  hand,  and  climbed  into  the  driv- 
ing seat  over  the  wheel. 

He  drove  back  in  silence,  a  not  unusual  event; 
but,  on  arriving  at  the  hotel,  he  did  not,  which  was 
most  unusual,  go  with  Carvel  into  the  barn  which 
served  as  a  garage  and  proceed  to  spend  a  pleasant 
hour  overhauling  a  perfect  machine;  instead  he 
lounged  for  a  little  while  on  the  veranda,  then  went 
up  to  Francesca's  room. 

"  Can  I  come  in  and  smoke  for  a  bit?  "  he  asked. 

Francesca  was  having  her  hair  done;  she  dis- 
missed Mathilde  with  a  smile,  and  Tony  subsided 
into  a  wicker  chair  beside  the  dressing-table  and 
began  to  fidget  with  Francesca's  manicure  case,  the 
tops  of  her  scent  bottles. 

Francesca  went  on  combing  her  hair ;  it  lay  like 
pale-gold  silk  wave,  outspread  upon  one  shoulder; 
from  under  her  lashes,  as  she  combed,  she  studied 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  25 

Tony's  rather  heavy  face,  her  fingers  gripped  the 
frail  comb  with  sudden  intensity. 

Oh  heavens !  were  all  men  this  mixture  of  defence- 
less childishness,  a  sort  of  thick  and  yet  rather 
pathetic  obstinacy,  and,  as  well,  such  decent  nice- 
ness,  a  niceness  which,  despite  its  humdrumness,  in 
spite  of  its  usualness,  yet  had  something  rather 
splendid  about  it,  combining,  as  it  did,  fidelity  and 
chivalry — were  all  men  beings  who  harrowed  one's 
feelings  and  made  one,  when  a  safe  course  of  action 
had  been  chosen  in  one's  innermost  mind,  yet  see 
beyond  that  safety  a  way  which,  for  oneself,  held 
neither  safety  nor  ease,  and  upon  which,  neverthe- 
less, the  feet  of  another  would  be  set  as  surely  and 
steadily? 

She  gave  a  sigh,  and  Tony  ceased  twisting  a  gold 
stopper  round  and  round,  thus  permanently  loosen- 
ing its  hold,  and  looked  up. 

"Hullo!  Tired?"  he  asked.  He  added  slowly, 
staring  rather  intently  at  Francesca,  obviously 
wishful,  however,  to  please:  "Topping  your  hair 
looks!" 

Francesca  murmured  of  motoring  dust,  no  decent 
hairdresser  available;  a  silence  fell. 

Tony  began  to  turn  the  stopper  round  again ;  it 
squeaked  a  little  at  his  ministrations,  and  that 
almost  inaudible  squeak  raised  a  sort  of  stifled  fury 
in  Francesca;  she  longed  to  take  the  scent-bottle 
away  from  those  big  hands  and  bang  it  down  and 
smash  it,  and  demand :  "  Why  don't  you  say  what 


26  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

you  want  to?  Why  do  you  force  me,  by  your  con- 
sideration for  me,  to  give  expression  to  the  words 
I  ache  not  to  say — which  you  make  me  say  because 
you  are  so  decent?  You  spare  me,  and  that  I  can- 
not bear " 

In  the  silence,  the  choked  little  fountain,  which 
played  in  what  the  hotel  termed  its  court-yard, 
could  be  heard,  a  bird  called  sleepily,  the  sky  was 
a  riot  of  sunset  loveliness,  all  the  flowers  of  summer 
seemed  piled  there,  and  as  the  clouds  drifted  apart 
revealing  the  tender,  luminous  dark  blueness  of  the 
early  evening,  it  was  as  though  countless  flowers 
dropped  petals  as  they  faded. 

Tony  fidgeted  again ;  Mathilde  knocked,  and  came 
in  with  a  dress  over  her  arm,  which  she  spread  upon 
the  bed  in  all  its  frail  glory. 

"  Hullo !  "  Tony  said. 

"  It's  my  damnedest,"  Francesca  said.  "  You 
remember  you  told  me  to  do  my  damnedest — 
Voila!" 

They  both  laughed;  Mathilde,  with  that  rare 
glance  of  happiness  a  really  good  maid  bestows  on 
a  really  good  mistress,  evincing  approval  and  satis- 
faction, not  utterly  uninfluenced  by  the  presence  of 
the  master,  went  out. 

Silence  again. 

Francesca  felt  her  heart  begin  to  beat  rather  fast 
as  she  waited ;  she  said  at  last,  a  little  tremulously : 

"  Darling,  what  is  it?  " 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  27 

She  leant  forward;  she  had  finished  doing  her 
hair,  she  held  out  a  hand  to  Tony. 

"  What's  what?  "  he  asked  defensively. 

Francesca  forced  a  little  laugh. 

"  Tony,  of  what  are  you  thinking?  " 

"At  that  moment  I  happened  to  be  thinking  of 
that  kid  Dolores.  Lucky  we  were  in  the  river 
to-day." 

He  rose  and  stretched. 

"  I'll  go  and  change,  and  I  must  have  a  look  at  the 
cellar  with  Monsieur  le  patron ;  this  is  a  celebration 
dinner ! "  7 

It  was  at  least  celebrated  by  excellent  wine ;  and 
the  good  Mathilde,  when  she  had  finished  Francesca, 
had  exclaimed  at  the  beauty  of  "  miladi,"  but  never- 
theless, the  dinner  lacked  gaiety. 

And  after  dinner— irony  of  fate — the  waiter  came 
to  tell  them  two  gypsies  were  going  to  sing  on  the 
veranda  that  night;  their  Excellencies  would  be 
there  to  enjoy  it? 

Of  course  the  gypsies  were  the  father  and  mother 
of  Dolores,  and  of  course  she  slept  beside  them 
whilst  they  sang  and  played. 

Tony's  listlessness  had  vanished ;  he  went  out  and 
talked  with  them,  and  bent  over  Dolores,  who  slept 
on.  Francesca  could  hear  the  man  Pedro  talking  of 
poverty,  his  big  family,  the  hardships  they  all 
endured.  .  .  . 

She  called  to  Tony  that  she  was  going  up ;  it  was 


28  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

still  early,  but  she  felt  tired  out  by  the  strain  of 
those  last  hours. 

In  her  room  she  sat  in  darkness  by  the  window, 
the  sound  of  the  guitar  came  to  her  faintly  and  the 
echo  of  Pedro's  voice — young,  ardent,  gay — as  he 
sang  to  its  music. 

It  was  a  perfect  night,  a  night  of  radiant  stars 
and  deep,  soft  darkness,  of  a  thousand  perfumes, 
and  a  cool,  little  wind  to  carry  them  about  like 
invisible,  enchanting  flowers. 

The  loveliness  made  Francesca  wince  inwardly; 
it  intensified  by  its  contrast  with  her  own  outlook, 
the  sadness  in  her  heart ;  loveliness  was  for  happy 
people,  people  at  peace  with  their  world. 

And  she  was  so  far  from  that,  and  near  only  in 
this  moment  to  suffering  and  struggle.  She  could 
not  urge  Tony  to  adopt  this  child  despite  the  dumb 
appeal  of  his  eyes,  the  "  waiting  "  which  she  sensed 
in  his  attitude ;  she  could  not. 

And  then,  perversely,  quite  suddenly,  she  encour- 
aged the  false  note :  "  Perhaps  Tony  did  not  really 
care,  was  not  genuinely  interested?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  together^  so  closely  that  the 
rings  bruised  her  fingers. 

It  would  mean  a  change  in  their  life  together ;  it 
would  mean  a  severance — and  she  could  be,  she 
knew,  jealous  of  Tony. 

She  would  be — she  met  the  acknowledgment  with 
a  faint  flush  and  a  quick  stab  of  the  heart.  For  her 
jealousy  would  not  be  so  much  for  herself,  in  direct 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  29 

connexion  with  Tony's  love  for  her,  his  dependence 
on  her  for  his  happiness,  as  it  would  be  for  that 
undying  memory  they  shared,  which  their  love  for 
each  other  had  first  called  into  being. 

Oh,  how  could,  how  could  he  want  this  child — • 
when  he  remembered? 

And  before  her  mental  gaze  there  rose  the  vision 
of  Tony  and  herself.  He  had  come  in  and  found  her, 
when  she  had  just  got  better,  and  had  been  up  for 
the  first  time,  kneeling  beside  the  box  of  lovely  tiny 
clothes,  and  he  had  knelt  down  beside  her  and 
gathered  her  up  in  Ms  arms  and  kissed  away  her 
tears. 

How  could  he  want  to  do  this  thing? 

And  how  easily  men  forgot !  What  a  little  while 
they  suffered,  really! 

The  tears  Tony  had  kissed  away  seemed  to  have 
returned  to  her  keeping  now,  and  they  fell  in  her 
heart.  Below  in  the  scented  darkness  the  vapid  yet 
pretty  notes  of  the  guitar  still  sounded ;  Pedro  still 
sang  of  love  and  sorrow  in  the  voice  of  youth. 

Francesca  got  up  and  began  to  walk  about  the 
room.  What  an  impossible  situation  it  was,  really ! 
And  it  had  risen  in  one  half-hour,  from  a  half- 
careless  remark,  from  sheer  chance.  And  it  would 
alter  their  lives  irrevocably. 

The  door  opened  gently ;  Tony  looked  in. 

"Hullo!  Not  asleep?" 

"  No,  I  can't  sleep." 

He  crossed  to  her. 


30  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Anything  wrong?  " 

Francesca  answered  with  another  question: 

"  Have  the  gypsies  gone?  " 

"Oh  yes,  rather — at  least,  the  mother  and  our 
rescue,  Senorita  Dolores  Juana — they've  gone. 
Pedro,  the  father's  still  doing  his  stunt." 

"  You  didn't  stay  when  the  others  left?  " 

"  No." 

He  wandered  about  irresolutely ;  a  big,  solid,  well- 
shaped  being  in  the  dimness,  the  outline  of  his 
shoulders  clearly  cut  against  the  window  space  as 
he  stood  there,  looking  out. 

His  very  silence  seemed  irritatingly  dear  at  this 
moment,  expressing,  as  it  seemed  to  do,  strength, 
and  yet  making  Francesca  intensely  aware  of  the 
futility  of  strength  at  such  a  juncture. 

The  idea  came  to  her  that  if  Tony  simply  turned 
round  and  said,  as  he  would  say  in  his  speech : 

"...  Look  here,  old  girl!  I  want  to  have  that 
kid ;  I  think  it's  the  jolliest  little  beggar,  and  I  vote 
we  go  down  and  fix  it  all  to-morrow."  .  .  .  that  she 
would  feel  it  all  so  much  easier;  his  directness 
would  cut  away  so  much  of  that  growth  in  her  soul 
which  she  felt  to  be  morbid  concerning  this  matter. 

But  Tony  said  nothing;  and  at  last,  going  to  him 
and  slipping  a  hand  into  his,  Francesca  said : 

"  Did  Maria  and  Pedro  discuss  our  taking  their 
baby  from  them,  adopting  her,  by  any  chance?  " 

"  Oh,  I  dunno !  They  talk  a  lot,  those  sort  of 
people,  y'know.  Perhaps  they  don't  mean  half  of  it ! 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  31 

Giving  up  a  child  isn't  a  very  light  sort  of  thing  to 
settle  about  in  five  minutes." 

"  No,  I  know,  darling,  but — supposing  they  do 
consent — why  shouldn't  we?  " 

She  felt  him  start;  his  voice  was  troubled  yet 
eager,  as  he  said : 

"Look  here — what  d'you  really  feel  about  it, 
Fay?  What  'ud  you  really  like?  I  don't  mind  say- 
ing I  was  rather  taken  with  the  little  kid — and  then 
rescuing  her  and  all  that — saving  her  life.  I  sup- 
pose that  gives  one  a  feeling  of  a  bit  of  a  claim,  but 
I  don't  want  anything  you  don't  absolutely  agree  to. 
It  rests  with  you — I — we " 

He  stopped  irresolutely,  and  there  was  a  little 
silence. 

"  I  know,"  Francesca  said,  "  you  did  rescue  her, 
as  you  say,  and  if  these  peasants  are  really  anxious 
to  be  rid  of  the  poor  little  thing — if  you  really  feel 
you  would  like  to  do  this,  if  you  would  be  happy 
about  it " 

Her  voice  trailed  off;  she  could  not  go  on  speak- 
ing just  then;  the  effort  to  make  it  all  as  easy  as 
possible  for  Tony  had  cost  her  her  self-control. 

Tony  did  not  notice ;  he  began  to  discuss  the  affair 
carefully  and  thoroughly,  showing  thereby  how 
much  thought  he  had  already  given  to  it. 

Francesca  listened. 

How  right  she  had  been,  how  deadly  right ! 

She  listened  and  suggested  as  Tony  elaborated 
his  idea ;  outside  it  had  grown  very  still.  Pedro  had 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

£one,  the  hotel  was  at  peace  for  the  night ;  suddenly, 
in  the  silence,  a  bird  called,  waking  from  its  sleep ; 
another  brief  silence,  then  the  tender,  anxious  call 
came  again. 

It  seemed  to  Francesca  like  a  whisper  from  the 
night  ten  years  before,  calling,  calling  to  her  heart 
to  answer. 

She  forgot  to  listen  to  Tony;  she  could  only  re- 
member that  on  that  other  evening,  in  the  ivy 
outside  the  house  where  they  had  gone  on  their 
wedding-day,  a  bird  had  stirred  and  called.  She 
had  been  waiting  for  Tony  to  come  to  her,  and  in 
this  hour  she  could  recall  how,  at  the  faint  sound 
of  the  thrush  stirring  in  the  leaves,  she  had  started, 
and  how  madly  her  heart  had  beaten,  supposing  it 
to  be  Tony. 

She  had  leant  far  out  of  the  window,  looking 
deep  into  the  ivy,  and  the  scent,  it  had  seemed  to 
her,  of  surely  the  most  wonderful  roses  in  all  the 
world  had  drifted  up  to  her. 

And  she  had  been  drawn  back  into  Tony's  arms ; 
he  had  been  waiting  behind  her. 

Together  they  had  stood,  his  arms  about  her, 
looking  together  into  the  loveliness  of  the  night — a 
night  like  this  one — as  fair,  as  wonderfully,  in- 
timately dark ;  but  then  Tony  had  kissed  and  kissed 
her  hair  as  she  had  leant  back  against  him,  and  he 
had  called  it,  in  a  passionate  whisper,  a  "  perfumed 
crown  " — "  darling,  heavenly  stuff  to  kiss !  " 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  33 

Ten  years  before. 

His  voice  broke  through  her  memories. 

"  It's  up  to  you,  you  must  decide." 

She  caught  his  hand  in  hers. 

"Tony,  d'you  remember  this  night  ten  years 
ago?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  It  was  all  rather  wonderful,  wasn't  it?  It's 
rather — rather  a  pity,  isn't  it  (how  people  would 
scoff  at  me  for  being  sentimental,  if  they  knew) ,  but 
it's  rather  tragic,  don't  you  think,  that  all  that 
wonderfulness  goes  so  soon — and  is  forgotten?  " 

"  It's  not  forgotten,"  Tony  said,  "  only — things 
replace — it's  that,  I  think — they  grow.  I  dunno,  I 
can't  put  things  much,  as  you  know,  but  it  seems  to 
me  that,  though  marriage  is  pretty  wonderful  and 
all  that,  just  living  together  day  by  day,  and  feeling 
life's  good  because  you  do,  is  wonderful,  too.  Stacks 
of  times  I  look  at  you  and  feel  proud  of  you,  or  glad 
about  you,  or  a  dozen  other  things,  because  you're 
my  wife  and  you  love  me.  That  seems  pretty  good 
to  me,  too." 

"  Oh,  Tony ! "  Francesca  whispered.  She  drew 
his  arm  around  her  and  leant  her  head  back  against 
his  shoulder. 

He  kissed  her  hair. 

"  How  ripping  it  smells,  Fay.  What  stuff  d'you 
put  on  it?  " 

"  Oh,  scent.  I  forget  what  it's  called.  Tony,  I 
love  you." 


[34  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  gave  a  deep  sigh  above  her  bent  head.  Fran- 
cesca  waited  a  moment,  then  went  on  speaking 
swiftly. 

"  And,  Tony,  I  think — I  mean  I  have  decided,  and 
I  want  us  to  give  one  another  Dolores  for  a  tenth 
wedding  present.  Don't  you  think  it's  rather  a 
lovely  idea?  " 

She  was  trying  to  smile  in  the  darkness;  the  effort 
was  visible  in  her  voice. 

Tony's  arm  tightened  about  her. 

"  Fay,  d'you  mean  it?  " 

And  without  waiting  for  her  assurance,  he  hur- 
ried on : 

"  You  don't  mind — you're  sure?  " 

She  had  known  he  must  ask  that  question;  she 
said  quickly : 

"  Darling,  no." 

He  released  her  and  seemed  to  square  back  his 
shoulders;  the  decision  had  been  given,  suspense 
was  over;  confession  waited  on  relief. 

"  I've  thought  of  it  often  before,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  but  I  was  afraid — I  mean  I  thought  you'd  be  so 
hurt,  perhaps.  Shows  how  little  one  ever  knows 
about  anyone  else,  what?  For  look  at  us  now!  " 

"  Yes,  look  at  us  now,"  Francesca  echoed. 

A  clock  chimed  far  away ;  the  notes  fell  softly  and 
clearly  into  the  stillness. 

"  Getting  late,"  Tony  murmured. 

"  You'll  have  to  maid  me,"  Francesca  said.  Life 
had  returned  to  extreme  normality;  the  sacrifice 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  35 

had  been  made  and  never  realized;  things  were 
"  going  on  "  as  usual,  that  chief  necessity  for  the 
average  man. 

Tony  fumbled  with  the  hooks  of  the  white  and 
silver  dress,  cursing  in  a  quiet,  absorbed  way  under 
his  breath ;  at  last  he  had  finished  his  labours,  and 
he  heaved  a  portentous  sigh  of  gratitude. 

"  I'll  cut  off  now — shan't  be  long.  Feel  a  bit  tired 
to-night ! " 

He  vanished  into  his  own  room,  and  Francesca 
could  hear  the  sound  of  much  running  water  and 
brushes  in  mutual  operation;  then  Tony  reap- 
peared, looking  very  clean  and  sleepy. 

"  Rather  a  great  day?  "  he  asked.  "  It's  not  every 
five  minutes  or  every  anniversary  of  one's  wedding- 
day  one  adopts  a  baby !  I  say,  we  ought  to  make  this 
her  birthday  with  us.  Bather  a  scheme.  Sleepy,  old 
lady?  " 

Perhaps  Francesca's  answer  was  so  gentle,  it 
seemed  sad ;  perhaps,  dimly,  a  very  faint  glimmer- 
ing of  the  fact  that  such  a  thing  as  hurtness  existed 
in  the  world  came  to  Tony.  Of  course  Fay  had  said 
everything  was  all  right,  so  of  course  it  was;  still, 
women  were  rather  rum,  difficult  to  get  at.  ...  Per- 
haps Fay  had  been  remembering, poor  little  darling! 

He  slid  an  arm  about  his  beautiful  wife. 

"  Happy,  aren't  you,  darling?  " 

"  Of  course." 

She  stroked  his  thick  mat  of  hair,  released  from 
its  durance  vile  of  extreme  tidiness  during  the  day. 


36  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  What  made  you  ask?  " 

"  Oh,  I  dunno.  It's  the  end  of  our  anniversary, 
after  all." 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

He  waited.  Francesca  did  not  speak  again;  she 
was  tired,  of  course ;  it  had  been  a  long  day. 

He  freed  his  arm. 

"  Good  night,  old  girl." 

"  Good  night,  darling." 

When  he  was  quite  asleep,  beyond  the  power  of 
disturbance,  Francesca  got  up  and  knelt  beside  the 
window. 

An  extraordinary  vivid  kaleidoscope  of  her  life 
and  Tony's  »since  their  marriage  flashed  before  her 
as  she  knelt  .  .  .  the  usual  gay,  full,  interested  life 
of  their  set.  .  .  .  Tony  and  she  had  raced  and 
hunted,  danced  and  visited;  he  had  seemed  so 
"  complete  "  in  his  outlook,  so  serenely  pleased,  con- 
tent, and,  all  the  while,  behind  his  apparently  happy 
occupation,  there  had  been  this  secret  overshadow- 
ing thought,  this  innermost  hope  of  which  she  had 
known  nothing,  which  Tony  had  felt  to  be  too  sacred 
to  tell  her,  or  had  trusted  her  love  for  him  so  little, 
he  had  not  risked  doing  so. 

Perhaps  that  hurt  in  this  hour  more  than  the  ful- 
filment of  his  longing  made  possible  by  her  sacrifice ; 
at  least,  there,  her  action  had  bound  them  closer, 
but  Tony's  silence — a  silence  of  years,  a  cherished 
growth  of  his  very  soul,  guarded  so  jealously — had 
wounded  her  deeply.  She  realized,  staring  out  into 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  37 

the  soft  night,  how  very,  very  little,  in  the  end,  one 
human  being  knew  of  another,  how  endlessly  lonely 
even  the  closest  lives  were;  it  was  possible,  and 
therein  lay  a  deadening  irony,  to  share  a  man's  life, 
his  every  action  almost,  his  every  interest,  to  live 
with  him  as  himself,  bound  by  a  genuine  love  on 
either  side,  and  yet  know  him  so  little  that  a  funda- 
mental outlook  on  a  matter  of  most  vital  importance 
could  be  held  by  him  without  his  desire  to  share  it. 

And  again  that  stark  wonder  which  the  discovery 
of  any  distinctive,  new  quality  in  the  character  of 
those  we  love  can  wake  in  us,  swept  over  Francesca. 

She  was  afraid  of  this  loneliness  of  herself,  which 
seemed  so  suddenly  to  have  been  made  visible  to  her 
by  Tony's  silence,  and  again  by  the  quick,  jerky 
confession  he  had  poured  out  to  her — and  so  much, 
oh !  so  much,  by  the  advent  of  Dolores. 

She  felt,  on  this  point,  an  indescribable  emotion, 
which  held  jealousy  and  nobility  and  dread,  and 
longing  and  bitterness  and  an  infinite  sorrow  in  its 
depths ;  she  knew,  she  had  known,  even  in  that  fleet- 
ing exultation  which  a  sacrifice  made  for  someone 
you  love  wakes  in  you,  that  she  would  suffer  watch- 
ing Tony  with  Dolores,  that  her  loveliest  and  most 
poignant  memory  would  be  changed  into  bitterness 
now,  and  that  yet  she  would  want  Tony  to  be  happy. 
It  amazed  her,  too,  to  find  how  little  her  boasted, 
casual  acceptance  of  the  inevitable,  a  tenet  of  her 
creed,  availed  her  now  in  the  first  real  trial  of  her 
life;  her  gay  cynicism  fell  from  her  like  a  useless, 


38  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

too  frail  wrap,  swept  away  by  a  tempest,  her  slogan : 

"  Oh,  of  course  one  accepts  the  things  one  must ; 
it's  the  easiest  and  wisest  thing  to  do ! "  seemed  a 
string  of  cheap  and  foolish  words;  one  did  not 
accept  wisely  or  easily,  because  pain,  resentment, 
were  both  futile. 

The  dawn  was  breaking  in  the  east,  a  spear  of 
pearl  cut  between  the  bars  of  darkling  violet,  the 
winding,  uneven  street  became  dimly  visible,  the 
new  day  had  come. 

Francesca  rose  wearily,  and  went  to  the  dressing-! 
table  to  spray  her  hands ;  she  caught  a  pale  glimpse! 
of  herself  in  the  mirror. 

Had  it  been  only  yesterday  she  had  seemed  so] 
young,  so  one  with  golden  life  and  golden  roses? 

They  bloomed  now,  whitely,  in  a  tall  vase  beside 
her. 

She  looked  at  them  with  the  first  tears  which  had' 
come  to  her  shining  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  II 

"  Le  coeur  a  des  raisons  que  la  raison  ne  connait  pas." 

WITHIN  a  week  Dolores  Juana  Estival,  aged 
two  years  and  one  month,  a  member  of  the 
Holy  Roman  Church,  and  a  citizeness  of 
the  Spanish  kingdom,  had  become  the  legal  posses- 
sion of  Tony  and  Francesca,  and  the  parents  of 
Dolores  Juana  had  become  the  legal  possessors  of  a 
portable  bank,  and  felt  themselves  to  be  happily 
free  from  an  encumbrance. 

Dolores  accepted  the  change  in  her  life  and  sur- 
roundings philosophically;  she  left  the  parental 
tent  seated  between  Tony  and  Francesca ;  and  Tony, 
Francesca  noted  with  a  little,  bleak  smile,  drove 
very  slowly  in  order  that  Dolores  might  see  all  that 
there  was  to  be  seen  in  the  way  of  passers-by,  or 
flowering  trees,  or  oxen. 

Francesca  could  have  cursed  and  cried,  laughed 
and  derided  as  she  sat  in  infinite  loneliness  that 
sunlit  afternoon  and  watched  Tony's  patience,  his 
unaffected  pleasure  in  Dolores'  unsteady  but  so 
attractive  "walk,"  her  solemn  wonder  at  finding 
herself  defeated  by  the  ground  she  had  a  moment 
before  trampled  upon  in  triumph.  He  had  gone 
with  Francesca  to  engage  a  nurse,  and  he  had  talked 

39 


40  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

with  her  in  his  bad,  vigorous  Spanish  about  Dolores, 
laughing  at  his  mistakes,  but  nevertheless,  manag- 
ing to  drive  homeiany  point  he  wished  to  emphasize. 

As  he  talked,  Francesca  had  marvelled,  for  he 
knew  his  subject;  and  again,  at  that  realization,  a 
sword  had  turned  in  her  heart. 

Dolores,  her  curls  brushed  and  bobbing  every 
moment,  her  cheeks  carnation-pink  with  excite- 
ment, her  green  eyes  like  clear  pools  lit  by  sheer 
sunshine,  danced  on  Tony's  knee,  her  short,  fluffy 
skirts  billowing  out  like  tiny,  white  waves  about 
her. 

The  car  had  been  requisitioned  for  days  for  her 
shopping;  Tony  had  contributed  a  pair  of  emerald 
green  shoes,  and  a  little  jade  necklace. 

"  I  never  knew  you  had  'such  decorative  in- 
stincts ! "  Francesca  told  him. 

"  I  haven't ;  Doro  has  such  green  eyes,  that's  all," 
he  said  with  a  grin. 

He  had  chosen  "  Doro  "  as  a  name,  and  Emilia, 
the  nurse,  and  Francesca  had  received  this  ulti- 
matum with  quiescence. 

At  any  rate,  Francesca  owned  to  herself,  Doro 
paid  for  dressing,  for  the  meticulous  care  to  which 
she  was  now  subjected ;  she  was  a  really  lovely  thing 
and,  as  Tony  constantly  repeated,  "When  she 
smiles!  ..."  Imagination  was  left  to  cope  with 
a  marvel  so  enchanting ! 

As  if  she  understood,  Doro  kept  the  smile  almost 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  41 

exclusively  for  Tony ;  Tony  was  her  god,  and  sky, 
her  need  and  dream. 

She  said  his  name  first,  her  only  English  word ; 
she  knew  his  voice,  his  step,  and  she  swarmed  up 
him  the  moment  he  sat  down,  clutching  a  flannelled 
knee  in  deadly  seriousness,  whilst  she  stood  with 
both  emerald  shod  feet  on  one  of  Tony's,  and  pulled 
herself  higher  till  she  stood  upright,  gripping  the 
lapels  of  his  coat,  her  face  near  to  his,  the  enchant- 
ing smile  breaking  out  at  the  glorious  triumph  of 
her  progress. 

And  Tony  would  say  under  his  breath : 
"  You  little  ripper,  you  stunning  little  kid ! " 
He  did  not  lavish  many  endearments  on  Doro  in 
Francesca's  hearing;  he  might  be  "  thick,"  "heavy," 
as  has  been  stated,  but  if  he  was  also  (as  had  been!, 
hinted  by  Francesca's  friends)  "  one-ideaed,"  some- 
times that  single  instance  of  imagination  was 
extremely  tactful;  Francesca  and  he  had  never 
discussed  the  question  of  her  affection  for  Doro,  yet, 
though  Francesca  had  been  entirely  sweet  about 
getting  the  child  things,  seeing  to  her  welfare,  and 
though  she  called  her  "  Darling,"  Tony  knew  that 
an  imitative  effort  on  his  part  would  not  be  wel- 
come. So  Doro  remained  unendeared  in  public,  and 
Tony  made  up  for  it,  when  he  could,  in  private. 

He  had  few  chances;  Francesca  was  generally 
present,  but  he  had  one  amazing  gorgeous  after- 
noon when  he  drove  Doro  out  alone  in  the  car, 


42  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

whilst  Francesca  disposed,  if  she  could,  of  a  head- 
ache, and  encouraged  a  siesta. 

Emilia  pleaded  to  go ;  not  that  she  loved  the  car, 
but  that  she  loved  Dolores ;  the  car,  in  an  access  of 
self-abandonment,  she  had  termed  "  a  machine  of 
the  evil  one,"  having  driven  in  it  when  Tony  had 
felt  inclined  to  pace,  and  having  never  forgotten 
that  memorable  and  devastating  experience. 

The  mere  idea  of  her  beloved  baby  driving  forth 
to  certain  danger,  to  her  probable  death,  in  Emilia's 
opinion,  was  not  to  be  endured  without  violent 
protest. 

But  Tony  was  adamant,  and  at  last,  having  be- 
sought every  saint  she  could  remember  to  keep  an 
eye  on  her  baby  and  avert  the  evil  eye  from  the  car, 
Emilia  watched  the  Kolls  disappear  in  a  cloud  of 
dust,  and  returned  to  a  broken  siesta  on  the  veranda, 
where,  luckily,  Miguel,  the  first  waiter,  was  also 
resting  from  his  labours,  and  could  help  to  beguile 
sorrow  from  the  mind  by  means  of  picked  tunes 
played  upon  the  mandolin  and  accompanied  by 
glances,  long,  expressive  and  love-lorn. 

Tony  and  Dolores  meanwhile  drove  together  in 
easy  silence ;  Dolores  had  on  a  white  muslin  dress, 
and  a  large  white  shawl  which  stood  up  in  a  peak  at 
the  back  of  her  white  bonnet,  which  was  of  stout 
corded  silk,  and  had  a  ruffle  round  the  face. 

"  Like  it?  "  Tony  inquired  at  length,  some  ten 
miles  having  ticked  off  the  speedometer ;  he  trans- 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  43 

lated  his  speech  into  Dolores'  native  tongue,  and 
she  smiled. 

Tony  put  an  arm  round  all  the  sweet  whiteness, 
and  Doro  laughed,  she  stretched  up,  and  laid  a 
hand  on  the  huge  steering  wheel  and  laughed  again, 
so  Tony  lifted  her  on  his  knee  and  Doro  drove. 

It  was  hot  and  still  and  peaceful,  and  at  last, 
having  noticed  a  garden  which  seemed  to  belong  to 
an  untenanted  house,  Tony  ran  the  car  back,  and, 
holding  Doro  on  one  arm,  went  in  at  the  rusty  iron 
gate  to  investigate. 

The  house — a  square,  pink-washed  building,  the 
pink  faded  to  a  pale  lemon  colour  in  many  places, 
its  black  and  white  roof  glittering  in  the  sunshine — 
stood  back,  raised  upon  two  small  terraces.  It 
appeared  utterly  deserted,  and  indeed  the  cobbled 
paths  were  nearly  .hidden  beneath  their  growth  of 
rank  grass  and  groundsel. 

But  the  terraces  were  cascades  of  loveliness,  from 
which  roses  tumbled  in  velvety  waves  of  gorgeous 
deep  red,  and  sheerest,  most  delicate  pink. 

Tony  took  out  his  pipe,  and  sat  down  beneath  an 
orange  tree. 

It  was  infinitely  peaceful  here;  there  seemed  to 
be  only  sunshine,  and  the  nearness  of  the  bees,  and 
roses  in  the  world. 

"  We'll  come  here  often,"  he  said  to  Doro,  "  you 
and  I,  d'you  see?  It's  our  enchanted  garden;  we 
discovered  it." 


44  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  looked  gravely  at  Doro,  who  looked  back  with 
that  wide,  satisfying  look  of  childhood  when  it  loves 
and  trusts. 

Tony  had  none  of  that  reputed  shyness,  dis-ease 
of  mind,  which  is  popularly  supposed  to  beset  a  man 
at  the  mere  nearness  of  a  baby;  he  had  no  gene 
whatever  where  children  were  concerned ;  tout  court 
he  belonged  to  that  class  of  men  which  likes  chil- 
dren, dogs  and  horses,  because  it  understands  them, 
a  class  whose  adjectives  are  limited,  but  their  hearts 
large. 

He  was  planning  all  sorts  of  things  for  Doro,  as 
she  industriously  rolled  one  orange  after  another 
between  his  feet,  white  goal-posts  of  obliging  ex- 
tension into  which  Doro  "  shot "  with  surprising 
regularity  when  she  sat  close  to  the  right  foot  and 
pushed  the  orange  with  both  hands. 

This  mancEuvre  Tony  criticized,  as  became  one 
of  the  sporting  patrons  of  the  British  Empire.  He 
instructed  Doro  in  the  mysteries  of  a  "  foul,"  and 
urged  her  to  shoot  a  little  farther  off,  thus  intro- 
ducing more  dash  into  the  game. 

Doro  agreed  instantly ;  she  sat  down  with  a  com- 
fortable bump  opposite  Tony  at  a  distance  of  two 
yards,  and  proceeded  to  kick  off. 

"Good  egg,"  Tony  said  judicially,  when  a  stout 
orange,  by  pure  chance,  rolled  home  at  last ;  "  keep 
it  up,  old  lady." 

They  played  absorbedly,  both  being  of  that  tem- 
perament which  has  received  biblical  mention  in 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  45 

the  form  of  an  adjuration,  which  advice  applied  to 
trade  crises  to-day,  should  prove  of  inestimable 
•value  to  the  output,  if  the  workers  could  accept  it ! 

Doro  and  Tony  pursued  their  labour  with  their 
Ifeet  in  place  of  hands,  as  originally  directed,  but  the 
result  was  satisfactory. 

"  I'll  teach  you  cricket  later  on,"  Tony  volun- 
teered as  the  game  progressed;  "and  to  ride,  and 
shoot,  and,  above  all,  fish,  my  dear." 

He  removed  his  pipe  from  between  his  teeth  in 
order  to  give  Doro  a  fair  and  unimpeded  statement 
on  this  vital  matter. 

"  Fishin'  is  the  sport,  Doro.  To  go  out  early,  and 
stand  and  watch  the  deep  swirl  of  quiet  water,  to 
wait  and  think,  and  then  do  it  all  over  again  in  a 
world  to  yourself,  where  you  can  feel  there's  room, 
where  you  can  breathe  at  peace.  And  then  home  in 
the  evening  through  the  thick,  soft  grass  with  the 
shadows  creeping  over  the  hills  and  the  smell  of 
crushed  leaves  and  wood  fires  burnin' ;  there's  a  lot 
in  fishing,  baby,  take  it  from  me." 

Doro  apparently  "  took  "  it,  for  she  said  slowly 
and  distinctly,  as  one  repeats  a  hallowed  word: 
"  Fish." 

To  Tony's  ardent,  Waltonian  soul,  this  was  sheer 
joy ;  he  felt  this  would  be  an  anecdote  for  all  time  to 
prove  conclusively  the  superlative  wisdom  of  Doro, 
and  they  passed  towards  the  car  in  radiant  mood. 

Within  view  of  the  gate  Tony  halted  abruptly, 
and  as  he  did  so  a  voice  hailed  him  languidly : 


46  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Hullo,  Rex !  At  last.  I  knew  the  car,  of  course ; 
been  stalking  you,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  Why — 
what " 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Tony  lifted 
Doro  and  walked  out  of  the  garden, 

He  said,  meeting  the  amused,  amazed  stare  of  the 
young  man  in  the  second  car : 

"  We've  adopted  Doro.  Doro,  this  is  your  Uncle 
Pan." 

Pasquale  Greville,  after  one  swift  glance  at 
Tony's  face,  bent  over  Doro's  hand  and  raised  it 
with  absurd  empressment  to  his  lips.  As  he  lifted 
his  head  he  said  lightly : 

"  Ton  my  soul,  Rex,  your  taste  is  excellent !  Con- 
gratulations indeed ! " 

Tony  grunted  non-committally ;  then  he  said : 

"  Why  are  you  here?  I  thought  you  said  in  your 
note  to  Fay  it  was  impossible  to  obtain  leave ;  that 
you  had  some  special  stunt  on?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  that  is  quite  over ;  the  affair  has 
died  out.  They  always  do  in  Madrid.  We  live  on 
.the  verge  of  death  by  reason  of  our  diplomatic 
frenzy  over  some  detail,  and  behold,  the  next  day,  or 
at  tea-time  the  same  day,  it  is  over !  This  particular 
affair  shrivelled  like  tissue  paper  in  a  flame.  One 
(becomes  inured  to  an  enormous  expenditure  of 
energy  over  nothing  after  a  time  and  remains  impas- 
sive. Then  one  obtains  leave,  for  the  Powers  believe 
impassiveness  to  be  exhaustion  due  to  forced  labour. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  47 

I  have  never  admired  economy,  but  always  its 
result ! " 

He  gave  a  little  laugh  at  his  own  words,  and  Tony 
inquired  unsmilingly:  "Your  car?"  his  eyes  on 
the  scarlet  racer. 

"  Oh,  no ;  Desanges  lent  it  me." 

He  nodded  to  the  chauffeur  at  the  wheel  and  told 
him  in  excellent  Spanish  to  crank  up. 

"  You  can  go  back  to  the  hotel.  I  am  returning  in 
the  other  car." 

"  See  Fay  at  the  hotel?  "  Tony  inquired  next. 

"  No,  her  maid  said  she  was  asleep,  but  a  very 
voluble  Cordovan,  with  excellent  teeth  and  pencil- 
line  eyebrows,  told  me  you  had  gone  off  in  the  car. 
I  was  rather  surprised  at  her  knowledge,  knowing 
your  views ;  but  I  see,  upon  reflection,  that  the  girl 
really  has  a  position  in  your  menage — necessitated, 
one  supposes,  by  my  niece's  advent." 

Tony  said  jerkily : 

"  I  rescued  Doro,  and  then  I — we — er — we  simply 
decided  to  adopt  her." 

"  Excellent  idea,  since  she  is  quite  beautiful." 

Tony  thawed  a  little  at  this  praise.  Pasquale  and 
he  had  never,  as  he  phrased  it  to  himself,  quite  "  hit 
it."  Charles  and  he  were  differently  bound  editions 
of  each  other;  but  Pasquale,  who  was  ten  years 
younger,  and  had  been  the  only  child  of  their 
father's  second  marriage,  had  never  fitted  into  the 
perfect  circle.  Yet,  for  the  life  of  him,  Tony  could 
not  have  said  why  he  had  this  detached  feeling  about 


48  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Pasquale,  why  Charles  and  he  rarely  talked  of  him, 
and  why  Pasquale  seemed  to  lead  a  life  apart. 

He  had  chosen  to  go  into  the  Diplomatic,  and 
Madrid  had  been  his  first  post;  it  had  been  at  his 
instigation  that  the  Kexfords  had  decided  to  motor^ 
in  Spain ;  they  had  all  met  in  Paris,  by  chance,  and 
Pasquale  had  seemed,  for  once,  actually  enthusias- 
tic about  something,  and  the  something  had  been 
Cordova. 

"  It  has  mystery ;  it  holds  the  past  between  the 
dry  palms  of  its  dark  hands,"  he  had  said. 

Tony,  in  his  more  acute  moments,  had  wondered 
whether  Pasquale  had  not  the  poetic  instinct; 
rather,  let  us  say,  he  had  feared  this  catastrophe, 
and  always  dreaded  secretly  to  receive  tangible 
proof  thereof,  specially  when  Pasquale  "  enthused." 

Of  course,  it  had  been  realized  very  early  in  the 
Kexford  home  that  "  Pasquale  "  as  a  name  was  im- 
possible; the  Rexford  tradition,  as  exemplified  in 
the  two  elder  sons,  decreed  all  things  foreign  to  be 
somewhat  "  high  f  alutin'  " ;  as  a  compromise,  and 
partly  because  Pasquale  used  the  word  himself,  he 
had  been  nicknamed  "  Pan." 

By  chance,  therefore — certainly  from  no  far 
vision  on  the  part  of  Tony  or  Charles — they  gave 
their  small  half-brother  a  name  whose  appositeness, 
later  in  his  life,  could  not  be  gainsaid. 

Another  quietly  mournful  outlook  of  Tony's  was 
concerned  with  Pasquale's  undeniable  beauty; 
Tony  considered  it  almost  distressing;  it  seemed 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  49 

.unmanly  of  Pasquale  to  be  really  beautiful,  and  odd 
and  unnecessary  that  any  member  of  decent  family 
should  be  so  dowered.  One  divine  mercy  alone  had 
been  vouchsafed  to  him  in  this  connexion:  Pas- 
quale was  not  conceited,  or  at  least,  if  he  was,  he 
had  sufficient  subtlety  to  disguise  the  fact. 

Dimly,  Tony  realized  Pasquale  was  "damn 
clever,"  and  that  also  disquieted  him ;  he  could  not 
fathom  this  brilliant-eyed,  brilliant-brained  young 
brother  at  all,  with  his  deliberately  exotic  outlook, 
his  barbaric  strength,  and  his  pose  of  extreme  Ian- 
guidness  about  everyone  and  everything. 

"  Comes  of  bein'  foreign,"  Tony  told  himself,  find- 
ing therein  a  balm  for  his  own  perplexity  of  mind. 
"  It's  his  Hungarian  mother." 

It  would  have  been  a  source  of  comfort  to  Tony 
if  Pasquale's  mother  had  been  Austrian ;  it  seemed 
a  less  remote,  less  wild,  and  altogether  better  coun- 
try to  have  sprung  from. 

She  had  died  shortly  after  his  father,  who  had 
idolized  her  and,  also  true  to  type,  idealized  her  too, 
a  fortunate  combination  of  adoration,  and  one 
which  adds  enormously  to  the  comfort  and  peace  of 
life  for  both  people  concerned. 

Tony  and  his  stepmother  had  "  got  on,"  inasmuch 
that  both  had  tacitly  and  unobtrusively  avoided  the 
other ;  after  his  mother's  death  Tony  had  made  over 
her  fortune  to  her  son. 

He  imagined  now  that  Pasquale's  surprise  visit 
was  probably  due  to  money  shortage,  but  he  minded 


50  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

that  very  little;  he  was  a  generous  soul,  and  the 
"  clan-protective  "  instinct  stood  him  in  good  stead 
here. 

Pasquale  had  lifted  Doro  on  to  his  knee  and  was 
teasing  her  in  Spanish,  to  which  she  responded  with 
complete  self-possession. 

Both  Doro  and  he  smiled  at  Tony  at  the  same 
moment,  and  he  was  struck  by  the  brilliance  of  their 
smiles,  the  quick  flash  of  Pasquale's  golden  hazel 
eyes,  the  translucent  sweetness  of  Doro's. 

He  found  himself  thinking,  "  What  ripping  chil- 
dren Pan'll  have  " ;  aloud  he  said : 

"Why  don't  you  marry,  Pan?" 

"  Why  should  one?  "  Pasquale  answered  evenly. 
"At  twenty -five  anyway?  Vaut  pas  la  peine,  my 
dear ! " 

"  Seems  a  pity  not  to,"  Tony  said.  "  Be  better 
for  you  than  your  type  of  life." 

Pasquale  made  a  little  grimace  over  Doro's  head, 
his  clear-cut  lips  curved  downwards  for  a  moment, 
his  eyes  held  a  faintly  contemptuous  look. 

With  that  needle-like  intuition  of  some  "pointed" 
minds  which  goes  unerringly  to  the  very  subject  the 
listener  wishes  to  avoid,  he  asked  in  retaliation : 

"  How  exactly  does  Francesca  feel  about  Doro?  " 

Tony  bristled  defensively. 

"How  d'you  mean,  how  exactly  does  she  feel 
about  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh !  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  must  be  rather 
difficult,  one  would  think,  to  accept  such  a  condi- 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  51 

tion,  even  when  it  means  so  lovely  a  thing,  and  not 
feel  something.  She  was  most  awfully  cut  up  when 
her  accident  happened,  wasn't  she?  " 

Tony  said  rather  heavily: 

"  Fay  suggested  our  adopting  Doro." 

Pasquale  smiled  again,  this  time  with  a  mixture 
of  admiration  and  derision. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  that;  I  was  sure  it  would  be  she," 
he  agreed  lightly. 

They  drove  the  rest  of  the  way  in  silence ;  on  the 
veranda  Francesca  was  waiting  for  them;  she 
waved  to  them  gaily. 

Pasquale  noticed  the  Cordovan  girl  with  the 
pencil-line  eyebrows  was  just  behind  her,  and  that 
Francesca  gave  her  directions. 

He  therefore  was  quite  ready  to  deliver  Doro  into 
the  arms  held  up  for  her,  and  Tony  descended  unen- 
cumbered from  the  car. 

Between  Pasquale  and  Francesca  a  friendship 
had  always  existed;  his  good  looks  must  have  ap- 
pealed to  any  lover  of  beauty ;  the  modelling  of  his 
head  alone,  with  its  darkly  shining  cap  of  thick 
hair,  was  perfect,  and  he  had,  moreover,  the  build, 
slender  yet  so  suggestive  of  splendid  strength,  of  an 
athlete,  and,  coupled  with  it,  great  height. 

Women  sighed  at  him,  after  him,  for  him,  and  to 
his  great  amusement  and  secret  satisfaction.  He 
was  spoilt  and  he  enjoyed  it. 

"  Everyone  ought  to  be,"  so  he  declared ;  "  it  does 
them  good." 


52  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Whatever  direct/aetion  results  from  this  course, 
I  should  feel  inclined  to  lay  heavy  odds  against  its 
being  one  connected  with  virtue ! "  Francesca 
laughed  at  him. 

He  took  off  his  soft,  white  hat  now  and  greeted 
her,  kissing  first  one  hand  and  then  the  other.  With 
Francesca  he  was  perhaps  more  boyish,  more  genu- 
ine than  with  any  other  woman ;  he  was  fond  of  her, 
he  had  never  dreamt  of  being  in  love  with  her,  so 
that  he  was  able  to  like  her  and  really  appreciate 
her. 

To-day  he  was  intensely  sorry  for  her;  all  the 
sleeping  chivalry  of  his  nature,  so  long  smothered 
by  the  weight  of  his  entirely  selfish  code  of  life,  was 
stirred. 

His  intuition  told  him  at  once  that  she  had  suf- 
fered, no  less  than  the  faint  violet  stains  beneath 
her  charming  dark  eyes. 

He  leant  back  against  one  of  the  wooden  pillars 
of  the  veranda,  and  found  Francesca  a  wholly 
attractive  being  to  watch.  Her  extreme  slenderness, 
concealed,  yet  beautifully  suggested,  by  her  thin 
white  frock,  silhouetted  against  the  riot  of  pink 
geraniums,  which  seemed  to  throw  a  rose  light  on 
to  her  palely  golden  hair,  delighted  him ;  she  pos- 
sessed, moreover,  to  a  great  degree  that  inexplicable, 
almost  indescribable  power  of  suggesting  at  once 
allure  and  reserve. 

Pasquale  thought  to  himself :   "  She  is  the  sort 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  53 

of  woman  men  want  to  fall  in  love  with,  and  other 
women  envy." 

To-day  all  that  effect  was  there,  but  it  was  as  if 
it  gleamed  through  a  shadow. 

"  She  is  deadly  unhappy,"  Pasquale  told  himself, 
and  he  would  have  liked  in  that  instant  to  put  his 
arms  about  her  and  say :  "  Look  here,  I  know.  And 
I'm  most  awfully  sorry,  Fay." 

But  he  was  quite  aware  that  Francesca  would 
laugh  at  him,  stroke  his  hair  amusedly  and  make 
him  feel  abominably  self-conscious. 

As  it  was,  he  laughed  at  himself  for  having  let 
sentiment  guide  him  so  dangerously.  His  great 
effort,  as  he  conceived  at  the  moment,  was  to  enjoy 
without  regret  and  to  avoid  without  reproach. 

So  he  said  now,  lightly : 

"  I  like  your  baby,  Francesca,  and  you  would  of 
course  choose  one  with  looks.  She  has  the  advan- 
tage, too,  of  getting  'em,  as  it  were,  retail!  One 
cannot  argue  at  least  whose  eyes  she  has,  or  which 
side  of  the  family  invented  her  nose !  " 

He  went  on  talking  amusingly  of  Madrid ;  he  was 
keen,  too,  on  the  Eexfords  returning  with  him,  and 
then,  after  a  brief  stay,  driving  on  to  Biarritz,  "  all 
silver  sea-spray,  and  baccarat,  and  freesias,  and  the 
most  exciting  cocktails,  my  dears.  You  must  come !  " 

Tony,  who  hated  being  called  "  my  dear,"  consid- 
ering its  application  to  himself  to  be  one  of  those 
peculiarly  mosquito-like  affronts  which  it  was  im- 


54  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

possible  to  resent  openly  without  appearing  foolish, 
now  lit  a  pipe  and  maintained  silence. 

"  Look  thou  not  down,  but  up,"  Pasquale  adjured 
him  with  languid  amusement. 

"Oh,  we'll  go  if  you  like,"  Tony  said  ungra- 
ciously, his  eyes  on  Francesca. 

"Then  that  is  settled,"  Pasquale  suggested, 
watching  Tony's  face  between  his  thick  lashes.  He 
was  as  impersonally  angry  with  Tony  as  his  type 
of  nature  would  allow  him  to  be,  on  Francesca's 
account. 

In  his  heart  there  burned  no  steady  flame  of 
whitely  protective  passion,  to  him  "  Hurstpoint " 
was  merely  a  place  he  had  always  known,  which 
Tony  had,  since  his  succession,  improved  rather 
pleasantly,  but  he  understood  Francesca's  outlook 
extraordinarily  well,  and  Tony's  not  at  all,  and  for 
the  nth  time  he  asked  himself,  with  a  faint  shrug  of 
his  shoulders,  why  clever  women  ever  married 
stupid  men?  Or  why,  having  married  them,  they 
did  not  order  their  lives  by  their  own  chosen 
direction? 

Love,  embodying  selflessness,  had  never  entered 
into  Pasquale's  scheme  of  things;  one  wanted,  one 
obtained,  one's  own  expression  of  affection  was 
necessarily  regulated  by  the  offering  it  received. 

He  walked  alone  with  Francesca  in  the  old  gar- 
den; it  was  very  late,  they  had  not  begun  to  dine 
until  nine,  and  now  the  nightingales  were  singing 
and  the  air  held  a  wine-like  intoxication  of  perfume. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  55 

elusive,  infinitely  alluring ;  a  wind  like  a  caress,  so 
soft,  so  cool,  so  fragrant,  lifted  the  close  leaves  of 
the  cypress  trees,  and  once,  it  was  so  still,  a  rose 
broke  and  its  petals  fell,  each  distinctly,  on  to  the 
sun-burnt  earth. 

It  was  a  night  when  longing  wakes  in  the  heart, 
causeless  perhaps,  unidentified  with  any  real 
thought  or  hope,  save  just  the  wish  that  such  love- 
liness might  never  die,  that  one's  heart  might  never 
miss  its  poignant,  heavenly-sweet  appeal;  it  was  a 
night  when  unhappiness  is  so  much  more  unhappy 
than  it  has  been  by  day,  when  contrast  forces  it  into 
more  vivid  being,  and  makes  all  the  loveliness  as 
well  hurt  and  ache  in  the  wound  which  throbs  so  in 
one's  heart. 

Francesca  sought  desperately  to  escape  from  her- 
self. Tony  had  vanished  after  dinner;  she  had 
known  where  he  had  gone,  of  course,  but  she  had 
thought  he  would  soon  join  Pasquale  and  herself  in 
the  garden. 

He  had  not  come. 

A  week  ago,  he  would  have  walked  beside  her, 
slid  an  arm  in  hers,  and  loved  the  loveliness  with 
her. 

He  might  be  inarticulate,  but  Francesca  heard 
the  words  he  never  said. 

And  suddenly  Pasquale's  youth,  his  sheer  joy  of 
living,  lashed  across  the  wound  in  her  heart. 

Ordinarily,  his  pose  was  indifference  to  all  things, 
or  the  cultivation  of  a  taste  so  eclectic,  nothing 


56  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

really  satisfied;  but  to-night  the  magic  of  the 
scented  darkness  stripped  him  of  his  diseased  fas- 
tidiousness, and  made  him,  for  the  moment,  a  nor- 
mal being.  He  slid  a  quick  hand  through  Fran- 
cesca's  arm. 

"  It  is  divine,  all  of  it,  isn't  it?  One's  pagan  self 
is  called  back  to  the  burning  past  by  a  night  like 
this.  Simply  to  be  alive  with  all  the  world  before 
one,  all  of  time,  to  dream  in,  love  in,  compete  in! 
Francesca,  d'you  know,  I  feel  to-night  as  if  each 
star  were  mine  to  fling  over  the  edge  of  all  the  skies, 

if  I  so  wanted.  I  feel "  He  stopped  as  suddenly 

as  he  had  spoken,  and  added,  his  mind  divining 
hers :  "  Whilst  you  feel  that  everything  is  utterly 
wrong — out  of  the  scheme  of  things " 

Francesca  gave  a  little  low  laugh. 

"  My  dear  boy,  it  isn't  any  good  feeling  anything 
more  about  it.  It  has  happened,  you  see.  I  made 
it  happen.  I  should  have  been  a  quite  worthless 
being  if  I  had  not  done  so,  and  I  should  be  a  coward 
and  fool  if  I  regretted  a  decent  action.  I  am  neither. 
I  am  simply,  rather  contemptibly,  quite  humanly,  a 
jealous  woman,  whose  jealousy  is  redeemed  a  little 
by  the  fact  that  I  try  to  smile  at  myself  when  I  do 
not  despise  my  own  idiocy ! " 

"  Why  did  you  do  it?  "  Pasquale  asked  with  hard 
curiosity. 

Francesca  laughed  again. 

"  Why?  Oh,  for  a  reason  you  will  scarcely  under- 
stand, you  are  too  youthfully  clever  still,  too  old 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  57 

for  your  own  heart,  my  dear !  Because  I  love  Tony, 
because  I  want  him  to  love  me,  because  he  is  so 
much  my  small  son,  as  well  as  my  husband,  and 
because  he  isn't  clever,  and  he  has  no  use,  therefore, 
for  substitutions,  and  cannot  understand  i  instead 
of '  for  the  words  *  of  course ' ;  and  because  all  these 
things  being  so,  he  must  have  what  he  wants  if  I 
can  give  it  him.  I  could  give  him  Doro,  you  seerf 
though  I  struggled  not  to.  Then  he  defeated  me 
because  he  fought  on  my  side !  I  was  thinking  only 
of  myself,  and  he  thought  of  me,  too." 

"  Or  you  imagined  he  did,"  Pasquale  interpolated. 

"  My  dear,  whatever  one  believes  is  true  when  one 
loves,  as  long  as  one  does  believe  it,  that  belief 
makes  it  true.  But,  if  you  like,  I  chose  to  believe 
Tony  considered  me,  and  so  I  considered  him — we 
revolved  in  a  beneficent  circle,  from  which  there 
was  no  outlet  unless  I  forced  one.  It  was  a  ques- 
tion: why  should  two  people  be  unhappy  or  one 
quite  happy?  And  I  abhor  foolish  waste.  So  here 
we  are  now,  two  of  us  perfectly  happy,  the  third, 
myself,  if  not  happy,  at  least  good — a  state  which 
should  bring  its  own  reward,  and  never  does,  I 
have  noticed,  probably  because  one  feels  such  exer- 
cise should  be  recompensed,  thereby  robbing  the 
action  of  its  value !  I  seem,  too,  to  be  in  rather  the 
position  of  those  dowered  ones  who  are  told,  be- 
cause they  have,  they  shall  have ! — a  most  perverse 
form  of  generosity  it  seems  to  me,  and  merely 
another  method  of  chastisement ;  suggesting  to  my 


58  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

profound  mind,  in  this  instance,  the  action  of  those 
Christmas  friends  who  will  give  you  presents  to 
please  themselves,  quite  irrespective  of  what  they 
know  you  want — and  then  you  have  to  seem  grati- 
fied! Pasquale,  d'you  know,  I  feel  sometimes  as  I 
think  a  shipwrecked  person  must  do,  who  finds  a 
boat  on  his  desert  island,  and  then  discovers  it  has 
no  oars,  nor  he  the  power  to  fashion  any !  Tony  and 
I  both  wanted  a  child  so  much;  we  felt,  I  think, 
following  up  my  rather  poor  metaphor,  that  a  child 
would  help  us  to  push  out  into  the  life  off  the  island 
where  we  had  become  rather  narrowed  perhaps. 
Now  the  child  is  there,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do, 
and  my  lack  of  skill  in  helping  defeats  Tony's  power 
as  well." 

"  I  understand,"  Pasquale  said  quickly,  "  and 
Tony's  so — forward,  shall  we  say,  about  this  matter 
because  he  has  not  much  vision.  It's  a  deuce  of  a 
risk,  for  one  thing,  I  should  imagine,  adopting  a 
child  like  Doro.  How  on  earth  can  one  foresee  how 
she  may  develop?  " 

It  was  obvious  he  obtained  a  certain  trite  satis- 
faction from  the  contemplation  of  Tony's  probable 
disappointment. 

"  There  is  such  a  thing  as  reversion  to  type,"  he 
added. 

Francesca  felt  how  very  far  away  from  her  he 
was,  despite  his  evident  desire  to  comfort;  he  saw 
only  one  crude  issue ;  he  visioned  for  her  one  con- 
solation for  her  bitterness — Tony's  discomfiture — 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  59 

and,  at  once,  that  married  loyalty  which  is  so  in- 
comprehensible to  any  outside  person,  a  loyalty 
which  will  maintain  itself  perversely  under  the  most 
amazing  conditions,  asserted  itself. 

"  Oh,  no,  that  sort  of  thing  will  not  happen,"  she 
said  quietly,  "  environment  is  "nine-tenths  of  this 
sort  of  battle — sufficiently  early  environment,  bien 
entendu — and  we  have  that  advantage,  you  will 
own,  wholly  on  our  side.  My  dear,  look  at  the  world 
we  know  ourselves;  if  you  need  examples  I  could 
point  to  men  and  women  whom  we  both  know  now. 
to  whom  environment  has  meant  everything,  whom 
environment  has  made.  I  grant  you  they  have 
brains — the  women  more  markedly  than  the  men, 
for  their  sense  of  values  is  so  much  more  definitely 
social — and,  after  all,  as  long  as  a  man  makes  good, 
one  is  apt  to  tolerate  him  easily.  But  one  ranks 
women  differently,  and  really  their  response  to  en- 
vironment is  amazing.  I  know  a  woman  who  is 
legitimately  famous  for  her  wit,  her  charm,  her 
general  '  flair '  for  all  that  is  decorative,  and,  in  a 
limited  sense, l  right '  in  life.  Her  nearest  relatives 
are  of  that  class  from  which  Doro  springs;  her 
father  made  money;  he  had  vision;  he  married  a 
gently-bred  woman,  and  the  daughter  had  initiative 
and  one  other  great  asset,  the  gift  of  differentiation ; 
she  could  choose,  she  did ;  she  '  chose '  the  right 
husband,  and  cultivated  various  eclectic  tastes  and 
trained  them.  Expensive  tastes,  the  right  kind, 
give  a  cachet  of  exclusiveness !  Quite  a  number  of 


60  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

people  have  attained  eminence  through  a  hobby ;  it 
is  one  of  the  dearest  but  wisest  forms  of  social 
imposition!  Only  it  must  be  a  rare  taste.  This 
woman  collected  something  and  made  it  her  hobby, 
as  she  made  her  children,  by  dint  of  study,  the  real 
thing.  The  only  detail  she  overdoes,  and  it  is  quite 
a  good  thing  to  overdo  in  her  case,  is  her  extreme 
indifference  to  all  so-called  class  distinction.  No 
woman  with  any  position  ever  really  possesses  this 
indifference.  One  pretends  to  do  so — and  grades 
one's  parties!  Or  one  gives  an  olla  podrida  and 
is  furious  at  the  wrong  people  being  mentioned  as 
being  present !  Honestly,  Pan,  what  snobs  we  are, 
every  one  of  us ! " 

"  Yes.  Adds  a  flavour  to  life.  Nothing  is  so  de- 
pressing as  universal  anything ;  haven't  you  noticed 
that?  And  snobbishness,  even  if  it  is  cheap,  makes 
for  gaiety !  If  one  hadn't  got  it,  life  would  be  pre- 
cious dull.  And  it's  so  pleasant  to  feel  superior, 
and  it's  amusing,  too,  when  you  know  that  you're 
feeling  superior  about  a  thing  you  couldn't  possibly 
help,  anyway!  You're  amused  both  ways  then:  by 
the  other  lesser-gifted  souls  who  value  what  you 
can't  help  having,  and  with  yourselves  for  valuing 
their  appreciation ! " 

Tony's  voice  called  out  of  the  soft  darkness. 

"  Here,"  Francesca  answered. 

He  came  towards  them  slowly,  his  cigar-end  look- 
ing like  a  tiny,  travelling  crimson  star. 

"  What  have  you  two  been  discussing?  " 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  61 

"  Social  values,"  Francesca  said  with  a  little 
laugh. 

"  And  what  are  they?  " 

"  Things  that  only  the  people  who  don't  need 
them  ever  have,  really,"  Pasquale  said  derisively. 

Tony  was  standing  still:  he  said  now  in  a  low 
voice : 

"  Bather  good  out  here,  Fay,  what?  By  Jove,  the 
honeysuckle  smells  like  an  English  lane ! " 

"  There's  glory  for  you,"  Pasquale  said  with  light 
derisiveness,  apostrophizing  the  honeysuckle ;  "  you 
smell  like  a  nice,  neat  English  lane  where  Reuben 
and  his  lass  walk  heavily,  his  earth-stained,  horny- 
hand  about  her  well-steeled  waist,  and  where  the 
stars  shine  down  demurely!  Here  we  have  only  a 
flood  of  passionate  perfume  and  the  stars  blazing 
goldenly,  and  the  very  dust  is  shaken  by  Romance !  " 

He  took  out  his  cigarette  case  and  chose  a  ciga- 
rette and  shut  the  case  with  a  sharp  snap.  Tony 
was  on  his  nerves;  he  longed  to  irritate  him,  to  jerk 
him  from  his  state  of  fatuous  baby- worship ;  it  was 
absurd — and  Francesca's  beauty,  a  certain  note 
which  had  trembled  in  her  voice  when  she  had 
answered  Tony's  call  so  swiftly,  fed  his  anger  incon- 
sequently ;  he  wanted  life,  all  that  was  lovely  in  it, 
to  be  for  him  alone  that  night ;  he  relented  a  state 
of  things  which  offered  him,  personally,  nothing. 

He  said  deliberately,  after  an  instant's  pause : 

"  Where've  you  been  all  this  time,  Tony?  " 


62  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

At  once  Francesca  began  to  speak;  Pasquale 
knew  she  did  not  want  the  answer. 

Tony's  stolidness  was  not  easily  shaken. 

"  I  went  up  to  see  if  Doro  was  all  right,"  he  said. 

"  On  such  a  night !  "  Francesca  quoted. 

"Is  anything  special  to-night?"  Tony  asked 
anxiously. 

Pasquale  went  off  into  fits  of  laughter ;  a  servant 
passed  carrying  a  lantern,  and  for  the  moment  his 
beautiful,  laughing  face  was  clearly  visible;  he 
looked  like  a  faun  in  the  passing  flash  of  gold,  a 
faun  delighting  maliciously  in  his  power. 


CHAPTER  III 

"A  secret  between  two  is  God's  secret" 

RABINDRANATH  TAGORE. 

BIARRITZ,  despite  its  baccarat,  its  cocktails, 
and  its  freesia,  was  not  very  satisfactory. 
Tony  did  not  like  "  large  "  hotel  life,  and  just 
then  Biarritz  was  crowded;  he  seemed  to  move 
amidst  a  swirl  of  diamonds,  dresses,  high  laughter, 
endless  meals. 

Doro  did  not  like  it  either ;  she  saw  little  of  Tony ; 
she  had  a  dull  life;  she  said  so  in  Spanish  with  a 
wail,  and  suddenly  she  grew  pale,  and  all  at  once 
she  was  ill. 

For  the  first  time  Francesca  voluntarily  cared  for 
Doro;  she  walked  with  her  in  her  arms  trying  to 
soothe  her,  murmuring  over  and  over  the  little 
words  of  love  babies  understand  in  any  language. 

She  had  come  in  from  a  dance  at  the  villa  that 
Diana  Arundel  had  taken  for  the  season,  and  she 
had  felt  very  tired,  most  inclined  for  bed.  Tony,  too, 
had  been,  as  he  put  it,  "  yawning  his  head  off  "  since 
their  return  to  the  hotel,  when  Emilia  knocked  at 
the  door  and  said  with  frenzied  gestures  that  "  the 
blessed  little  one — the  angel -baby — was  ill — dying; 
who  knew,  save  the  good  God,  what  was  to  be 
done?  " 

63 


64  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Without  being  gifted  with  celestial  wisdom,  Fran- 
cesca  seemed  to  know;  she  had  one  glimpse  of 
Tony's  face  looking  stupid  through  fear,  then,  put- 
ting on  a  peignoir,  she  ran  to  Doro's  room.  In  her 
mind,  as  she  rocked  Doro,  there  raced  a  medley  of 
memories  culled  years  before  from  some  little 
"  manual "  she  had  read  with  such  youth  and  such 
earnestness.  * 

"Hot  water"  seemed  all  she  could  remember, 
and  she  applied  it,  and  Doro  relaxed,  coughed  piti- 
fully, and  was  better,  and  Francesca  was  conscious 
of  a  quick  joy  as  she  clasped  that  small  figure  and 
cuddled  it  down  against  her  heart. 

She  walked  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  whilst 
the  darkness  faded  and  the  light  came,  when  Tony 
tip-toed  in,  followed  by  a  little,  voluble  doctor,  who 
seemed  to  have  come  for  the  sole  purpose  of  telling 
Francesca  how  clever  she  was. 

When  he  had  gone  again  and  Francesca  was  sit- 
ting on  the  couch  with  Doro  still  sleeping,  Tony 
came  and  knelt  beside  them.  He  put  an  arm  about 
Francesca  and  leant  his  head  for  an  instant  against 
hers. 

"  I  say,  Fay,  you  are  a  ripper,"  he  said  hoarsely ; 
"  that  chap,  Gomez,  says  if  you  hadn't  been  so 
prompt  Doro'd  not  have  had  a  chance.  I — I've 
wanted  to  thank  you  so  much  about — about — well, 
all  this,  adopting  her  and  so  on,  but  to-night 

He  waited  until  Doro  slept  in  her  cot,  with  Emilia 
watching  fervently  beside  her;  then,  out  in  the 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  65 

empty  corridor,  lit  now  by  one  long  adventurous 
spear  of  golden  light,  he  lifted  Francesca  in  his 
arms. 

"  You're  dead  tired,"  he  said. 

He  carried  her  into  their  room  and  laid  her  on 
the  bed  and  disappeared  into  the  bathroom,  to 
return  with  a  kettle  and  little  spirit  stove.  He  lit 
the  stove,  set  on  the  kettle,  and  measured  tea  from 
Franeesca's  tiny  silver  caddy ;  when  the  water  had 
boiled  and  he  had  made  the  tea,  he  carried  Fran- 
cesca's cup  to  her  and  held  it  to  her  lips. 

"  Come  on,  Sweetness,  drink  it  up." 

He  had  not  called  her  that  for  years;  it  had 
always  been  rather  a  high-day  and  special  term, 
reserved  for  use  on  great  occasions,  and  not  to  be 
dealt  with  lightly  or  unadvisedly. 

In  this  time  of  dawning,  the  cup  of  tea,  Tony's 
large,  dressing-gowned  figure,  his  untidy  mat  of 
hair,  and  that  last  expression,  seemed  to  Francesca 
to  make  up  for  all  the  bitter-sweetness  of  her  gift  of 
Doro  to  him;  for  all  the  self-torture  and  weary 
depression.  The  tea  was  far  too  strong,  and  it  had 
no  sugar  in  it,  and  insufficient  milk;  but  it  had, 
nevertheless,  an  Olympian  flavour. 

"  Now  go  to  sleep,  there's  a  good  girl,"  Tony  said 

in  his  most  fatherly-masterly-husband  way. 
*  *  *  *  * 

They  reached  HtHtetpoint  in  the  early  autumn, 
having  travelled  up  through  the  chateau  country 
very  leisurely,  and  at  once  life  became  a  series  of 


66  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

house-parties,  of  shooting  by  day,  of  much  bridge 
and  poker  in  the  evening,  and  very  little  baby- 
worship  indeed. 

Doro  appeared  and  disappeared,  and  Tony 
laughed  at  her  and  lost  her,  save  for  one  hour  in  the 
evening  before  dinner,  when  he  sneaked  off  to  the 
nursery,  where  he  generally  found  most  of  the  staff, 
headed  by  old  Mrs.  Beadle,  teaching  Doro  English. 

She  learnt  with  amazing  quickness,  just  as  she 
progressed  in  her  walking,  so  that  one  evening  she 
strode  from  her  chair  to  Tony  like  a  warrior  going 
into  battle. 

"Topping,"  said  Tony,  and  Doro  added  a  new 
word  to  her  growing  list. 

She  had  a  way  of  choosing  out  from  a  sentence 
two  words  which  expressed  just  what  she  wanted, 
so  that  Tony's  invitation  to  "  come  and  walk  a  bit," 
became  from  Doro  to  him  the  command,  perfectly 
understood  by  both,  "  a  bit,"  and  the  nursery  catch- 
phrase,  "  give  me  a  kiss,  baby,"  an  imperious  "  kiss." 

It  was  Francesca,  though,  who  introduced  into 
nursery  life  a  joy  hitherto  unknown,  in  the  form  of 
Mck,  that  redoubtable  "  errier  boy,"  as  Doro  came 
to  call  him,  and,  as  Mck  knew  himself  to  be,  the  best 
ratter,  the  pride  of  the  yard,  and  the  distinction  of 
his  master. 

Until  his  fall,  which,  like  Lucifer's,  was  mighty. 

For  Mck  became  the  nursery  dog;  he  was  intro- 
duced into  this  Paradise  of  the  fallen  by  Francesca ; 
he  light-heartedly  accompanied  her  thither  one 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  67 

rainy  afternoon  when  he  had  chanced  to  meet  her 
in  the  hall,  and,  finding  life  dull,  had  decided  to 
walk  a  little  in  her  company. 

He  went,  he  was  seen,  he  was  conquered  by  Doro, 
who,  ignorant  of  his  prowess,  his  reputation,  un- 
aware even  of  the  excellence  and  beauty  of  his 
shape,  clasped  him  about  his  middle  and  besought 
him  to  kiss. 

Mck  looked  into  those  green  eyes,  and  for  him, 
Antony's  temptation,  that  of  Paris,  the  adoration 
of  Komeo,  became  a  living  thing;  he  mutely  wor- 
shipped and,  like  Antony,  forsook  a  warlike  life  to 
bask  in  luxury. 

His  master  spoke  to  him  rather  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger,  but  Mck  was  adamant;  he  wagged  a  feeble 
tail,  but  he  remained  with  Doro. 

He  would  take  an  occasional  walk  with  Tony, 
when  it  was  very  wet,  perhaps,  and  the  wind  was 
rockety,  and  there  was  a  good  earthy  smell  of  leaves 
and  rain ;  he  would  go  forth  then  beside  Tony,  and 
Tony  would  talk  to  him  like  a  father. 

"  Where's  your  sporting  instinct  now ;  where's 
your  professional  pride?  You've  let  me  down; 
you've  lowered  the  kennel  standard !  The  prestige 
of  the  yard ! "  And  Mck  would  listen,  his  dark, 
golden  eyes  serene,  his  tail  carried  "  just  so,"  as  one 
who  said  "  Doro  loves  me,"  and  to  Doro  he  would 
return  at  a  racing  pace,  wet  and  muddy  paws,  eager, 
damp  nose,  soaking  coat,  "  an'  all,"  as  Mrs.  Beadle 
was  wont  to  say  tragically,  trying  to  clean  first 


68  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Doro,  and  then  Nick,  after  one  of  his  perambu- 
lations. 

"  How  are  the  mighty  fallen ! "  Tony  would  say  to 
him,  and  Nick  would  look  from  happy  and  harmful 
gazing  into  the  glowing  fire  and  say  as  plainly  as 
plainly,  one  ear  up,  "  On  to  their  paws ! " 

"He'll  have  to  go  to  town  with  us  later  on, 
y'know,"  Tony  said  earnestly  to  Francesca ;  "  he'll 
pine  away  if  he  doesn't." 

They  were  sitting  in  that  wonderful  interval  of 
peace,  the  dressing-hour,  together.  Mathilde  had 
not  yet  come,  and  Tony  had  dressed  early. 

Francesca  was  lying  on  the  couch  before  the  log- 
fire,  watching  the  little  emerald  and  sapphire  flames 
playing  games  together. 

This  sitting-room  of  hers  at  Hurstpoint  was  her 
own  entirely;  Tony  had  given  her  everything  in  it 
at  some  time  or  another.  It  opened  out  of  their  bed- 
room, and  was  furnished  partly  as  a  dressing-room 
and  partly  as  a  sitting-room. 

On  the  white  walls  hung  portraits  of  Tony,  a 
photograph  of  Sargent's  picture  of  Francesca,  views 
of  their  homes ;  there  was  a  bureau  where  Francesca 
wrote  her  letters,  and  in  one  corner  her  big  dressing- 
table  with  its  five-winged  mirror. 

Tony  was  mooning  about  happily,  his  pipe  be- 
tween his  lips,  sniffing  scent  bottles,  giving  his  hair 
a  last  sleek  down  with  Francesca's  brushes. 

Secretly,  he  adored  the  "  clutter  "  of  Francesca's 
dressing-table,  as  he  called  it,  though  he  would  never 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  69 

have  owned  to  such  a  weakness.  But  he  did;  it 
intrigued  and  amused  him,  just  as  Francesca's 
extremely  able  management  of  their  houses  aroused 
his  silent,  intense  admiration.  He  loved  the  "finish" 
of  her ;  her  way  of  getting  things  rightly  done,  and 
yet  never  talking  about  doing  them  at  all. 

Francesca's  voice  came  to  him : 

"Had  a  good  day?" 

"Kather.  Gad,  it  was  a  run;  mud  up  to  your 
neck  and  the  softest  going,  but  a  scent  like  a  knife." 

"  Darling,  how  splendid !  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  say — "  polishing  a  thumbnail  which 
would  have  needed  a  pot  of  polish  to  make  it  shine, 
"  I  say,  why  didn't  you  turn  out?  " 

Fay  laughed;  he  turned  and  looked  at  her  with 
a  surprised  smile. 

"Why?  Anything  funny  on?" 

She  was  sitting  up  amongst  a  pile  of  frilly  cush- 
ions, her  hair  was  done  in  a  loose  plait,  and  she 
looked  very  young  and  gaily  sweet. 

Tony  went  across  to  the  couch  and  stood  beside 
it,  looking  down,  his  brown  face  still  smiling. 

"  Any  special  reason?  " 

Fay  cleared  a  space  for  him. 

"  Sit  down  and  I'll  tell  you." 

He  sat  down  obediently. 

"  I  suppose  you  were  in  the  field  until  tea-time 
and  I  never  knew?  Some  dodge  like  that?  " 

"  No.  I  had  a  more  important  reason." 

"  Give  it  up,  old  lady." 


70  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

t 

"  Tony,  you  know  you  said  just  now  we'd  have 
to  take  Nick  with  us  when  we  went  up  to  town  in 
the  spring?  " 

"  As  becomes  a  brave  man,  I  cling  to  my  words." 

"  Tony,  suppose  we  stay  down  here?  " 

"  Miss  the  season,  darling?  /  shouldn't  care,  you 
know  that,  but  I  won't  have  you  chucking  every- 
thing just  because  I  love  the  country." 

"  Oh,  Tony,  be  like  a  husband  in  a  play — or  a 
novel.  Say,  '  No — oh !  my  darling — it  cannot  be.' ' 

She  stopped  with  a  broken  little  laugh,  and  for 
an  instant  there  was  a  dead  silence;  then  she  put 
out  one  hand  and  drew  Tony's  cheek  to  her  own. 

"  Darling,  it's  true,  darling,  it's  quite,  quite  true 
— after  all — after  our  despair — after  all  the  special- 
ist said !  Sir  Graham  Duke  was  here  this  afternoon, 
and  he's  so  pleased.  Aren't — aren't  you?  " 

" Pleased"  Tony  echoed  thickly.  He  thrust  him- 
self a  little  way  away  from  her,  then  caught  her  in 
his  arms  and  held  her  so,  her  head  against  his 
shoulder,  looking  down  at  her  face  in  the  firelight ; 
she  buried  it  against  him  suddenly,  and  he  sat  on, 
whispering  at  her,  kissing  her  hair. 

The  gong  boomed  out,  Mathilde  knocked.  Fran- 
cesca  stood  up. 

"  I've  ruined  your  shirt,  darling !  Eun  and  change 
it  whilst  I  dress — I'll  have  to  hurry." 

"Just  a  second,"  Tony  said;  he  called  out  in 
execrable  French  to  Mathilde  to  wait,  then  he  went 
back  to  Francesca. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  71 

"  I  say,  Sweetness,"  he  said  unsteadily. 

They  stood  so,  quite  near  to  one  another,  yet  not 
even  their  hands  touching  for  a  moment;  then  he 
bent  and  kissed  her  mouth  and  left  her. 


CHAPTER  IV 

".  .   .  .  /  thought  to  find 

Lips  wither,  listening  cease,  and  eyes  grow  blind. 
Yet  still  my  eyes,  where  hope  no  longer  grows, 
Beyond  all  other  eyes  keep  watch  for  those; 
Mine  ear  awaits  thy  voice  without  my  door, 
And  my  hand  seeks  for  thy  hand  evermore." 

MONICA  PEVERIL  TURNBULL. 

FRANCESCA'S  £on  was  born  in  a  midsummer 
which  seemed  to  swoon  in  a  haze  of  amethyst- 
tinted  heat ;  the  day  had  no  vitality,  the  very 
air  seemed  exhausted,  and,  as  a  breathless  evening 
closed  in,  with  the  waning  of  the  day's  weary  love- 
liness, Francesca's  strength  waned  too. 

She  died  at  dawn,  a  little  faint  inscrutable  smile 
on  her  curved  lips,  her  last  look  one  of  love  for 
Tony;  and  it  seemed  to  him,  meeting  it,  welcoming 
it,  that  Francesca  must  be  getting  better,  it  was  so 
like  her  usual  smile,  a  little  mocking  in  some  way, 
a  little  wistful,  wholly  sweet. 

He  knelt  down  by  the  side  of  the  big  bed,  from 
which  all  the  tinted  hangings  had  been  stripped 
away,  and  took  Francesca's  frail  hand  in  his.  A 
thousand  incoherent  memories  flooded  his  tired 
mind,  jostling  one  another  impotently,  inducing  in 
him  a  sense  of  intolerable,  irritating  fatigue. 

72 


.  ALMOND-BLOSSOM  73 

"  God,  if  the  day  would  come — Fay  speak — they 
had  a  son — what  a  life-time  ago  it  seemed  since  Fay 
had  told  him — they  had  beaten  the  home  coverts 
that  day — or  hunted — and  one  night  in  Spain  she 
had  talked  to  him  a  little  the  same — before  they  had 
taken  Doro — Their  wedding-day — and  the  yellow 
roses  a  waiter  had  got  somewhere — odd  how  that 
sort  of  fellow  managed  to  get  things — there  had 
never  been  a  woman  to  touch  Fay.  Why  on  all 
God's  earth  didn't  some  doctor  or  other  give  her 
something  to  buck  her  up,  bring  her  round?  She'd 
such  vitality — that  day,  years  ago,  out  hunting, 
after  her  accident " 

Her  hand  moved  very  gently  in  his ;  he  lifted  his 
haggard  face ;  Fay  was  looking  very  clearly  at  him. 

"  You're  better?  "  he  said  hoarsely. 

She  smiled  straight  into  his  blue  eyes,  tenderly, 
under  standingly ;  her  lips  moved. 

"  Fay !  "  Tony  called  loudly  in  uncontrollable 
anguish. 

She  had  always  answered  his  every  need,  divin- 
ing from  the  very  first  that  only  such  love  could 
serve  him ;  she  made  a  great  effort  now,  her  sweetest 

and  last. 

***** 

In  the  nursery  Rex  cried,  and  Doro  considered 
him,  then  expressed  her  consideration  in  Spanish  at 
Emilia's  knee. 

"  But  he  is  of  a  littleness,"  she  remarked  gravely, 
"and  of  a  queerness."  Upon  further  reflection  Ms 


74  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

toes  alone  seemed  satisfactory;  Doro  could  recog- 
nize a  human  resemblance  there. 

In  point  of  fact  Hex  was  like  his  mother ;  he  had 
dark  eyes  and  an  absurd  fluff  of  daffodil  hair. 

He  was,  rather  naturally,  an  extremely  nervous 
baby,  and  he  cried  incessantly,  a  poor,  anxious  little 
cry  which  wrung  Emilia's  soft  heart  entirely. 

"  Cry,  cry,  cry,"  said  Doro,  "  what  a  baby !  " 

Tony  saw  his  son  for  the  first  time  a  month  after 
his  birth. 

He  came  in  from  an  inspection  of  the  farms, 
gaitered  and  booted ;  he  walked  heavily  without  any 
spring,  and  his  face  looked  lethargic,  his  eyes  dull. 

He  only  came  to  the  nursery  now  because  there 
was  some  question  of  structural  alteration,  and  it 
was  essential  he  should  give  the  matter  his  personal 
attention. 

He  stood  just  within  the  door,  unnoticed  by 
Emilia  or  Doro. 

Francesca  had  adored  redecorating  the  nursery ; 
he  remembered  distinctly  choosing  the  Hans  Ander- 
sen tiles  for  the  fireplace  at  Goodes' — they  had 
lunched  at  the  Berkeley  that  day;  a  dozen  unim- 
portant details,  immortalized  now  by  their  dearness 
and  very  ordinariness,  appealing,  as  perhaps  only 
things  just  so  little  and  usual  can  appeal  when  the 
opportunity  of  their  recurrence  is  gone  for  ever, 
thronged  his  memory.  Fay  had  been  wearing  gar- 
denias that  day,  they  had  had  a  waiter  whom  they 
had  known  at  the  Carlton,  the  hold-up  in  Piccadilly 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  75 

outside  Devonshire  House  had  been  a  record  one — 
later,  they  had  walked  to  Goodes',  which  Fay  said 
absurdly  was  the  best-mannered  shop  in  town  be- 
cause it  opened  its  doors  to  you  at  your  approach, 
all  of  its  own  accord ! 

What  tiny,  ridiculous  things  people  who  were 
happy  laughed  at ! 

Opposite,  on  the  glazed  and  gleaming  tiles  the 
little  tin  soldier  saluted  eternally. 

"  We  must  have  this  set — look  at  him  and  think 
of  explaining  him  -to  Eex !  "  Fay  had  said. 

Tony  tramped  into  the  room,  and  Doro  rushed 
at  him,  arms  upheld,  emerald-shod  feet  going  peril- 
ously fast. 

"  Up — up !  "  she  commanded. 

He  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and  at  once  she  cuddled 
an  adorable  cheek  to  his,  such  a  cool  soft  touch 
against  his  face,  and  an  indefinable  yet  vaguely 
consoling  sense  of  femininity  seemed  to  float  to  him 
from  a  long  way  off,  and  he  felt,  for  a  second,  less 
hideously  miserable. 

"  Hullo,  old  lady ! "  he  said  to  Doro,  walking 
across  towards  Emilia  who  had  risen  and  stood 
looking  at  him  now  with  a  mingling  of  hurt  pride 
and  sorrow.  Tony  gazed  down  at  his  son,  his  own 
face  set,  his  mouth  a  bar  of  obstinacy. 

This— for  her ! 

Eex  lifted  dark  lashes,  and  met  his  father's  gaze 
gravely;  he  had  Fay's  eyes  exactly,  dark  amber, 
translucent. 


76  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Retriever  eyes,"  Tony  had  called  them  once, 
rather  pleased  with  his  parallel,  and  he  had  added : 
"Retrieve  me  anyway,  anyhow,  from  anywhere, 
darling ! " 

He  went  on  meeting  his  little  son's  darkly  golden 
look. 

"Excellency  will  hold  him?"  Emilia  suggested 
softly ;  she  had  transferred  Rex  to  his  father's  free 
arm  before  he  could  reply. 

Tony  went  on  looking  down,  remembering  pain- 
fully ;  he  felt  none  of  that  deep  stirring  he  had  been 
told  fathers  invariably  experience;  only  his  grief 
stirred  anew,  and  it  never  rested  long. 

He  gave  Rex  back  to  Emilia,  kissed  Doro  and 
went  out. 

It  was  a  perfect  day,  a  day  of  soft  flooding  light, 
of  sweet  freshness ;  autumn  was  coming,  but  like  a 
lover  to  deck  his  love  in  loveliness. 

The  second  roses  bloomed  in  glory,  the  sun  drew 
out  the  poignant  scent  from  the  cut  box  hedges. 

Tony  went  to  sit  in  the  walled  rose  garden;  he 
lit  his  pipe,  and  took  off  his  cap,  and  looked  round 
him ;  he  knew  it  was  a  lovely  day,  but  the  days,  all 
of  them  now,  seemed  so  damn  endless — all  the  same. 

His  mind  worked  dully,  going  over  and  over  the 
same  problem. 

His  life  felt  maimed ;  the  influence  of  Fay's  death 
was  like  a  trap  from  which  he  could  not  escape ;  he 
seemed  to  hustle  round  clumsily  in  it,  clumsily  and 
slowly,  bruising  himself  all  the  while. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  77 

He  had  a  feeling  he  had  been  duped,  treated  with 
inscrutable  unfairness. 

Since  the  fusion  of  one's  identity  in  that  of  an- 
other was  a  decree  of  life  itself  to  ensure  its  com- 
pletion, surely  it  was  monstrous  that,  suddenly,  for 
no  sane  reason,  that  fusion  should  be  broken,  dis- 
persed for  ever,  one  life  left  mangled,  suffering 
horribly?  The  fact  that  this  thing  could  be  made 
every  great  fact  grotesque  and  cruel. 

Extraordinary  too,  to  think  that  before  his  mar- 
riage he  had  been  content!  Now  he  was  alone,  a 
single  life  again ;  but,  God !  what  a  difference !  His 
mind  fumbled  with  its  grief,  which  seemed  to  cut 
him  off  from  all  humanity. 

Other  people  told  him  of  their  sympathy,  and  he 
accepted  their  speech  with  mechanical  courtesy; 
but  in  his  own  mind  he  was  thinking,  "What  do 
you  care?  You'll  go  back  to  your  home,  you've  all 
your  real  interests  waiting  for  you  the  minute  you 
cut  clear  of  this  forced  sympathy  meeting!  It's 
only  a  bore  really  having  to  be  sorry.  I  used  to 
feel  like  that  myself  about  other  people,  so  I  know !  " 

And  again,  it  gave  him  an  almost  jealous  misery 
to  listen  to  other  people  discussing  Fay.  The  place 
irritated  him,  too,  each  room  was  a  reminder.  Fay 
had  been  one  of  those  women,  rarer  than  one  real- 
izes, whose  imprint  lives  in  their  home. 

Many  women  of  personality  lack  this  gift,  often 
because  decided  personality  induces  a  certain  com- 
placent little  hardness ;  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem, 


78  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

you  must  possess  a  definite  gentleness  to  be  able  to 
influence  your  furniture ! 

Fay  had  concentrated  on  her  marriage,  and  sub- 
merged herself  in  it  to  a  great  extent,  and  her  home 
had  therefore  mattered  to  her  rather  greatly. 

It  had  been  a  beautiful  place  before  she  had  come 
to  it,  but  she  had  made  beauty  comfort  too;  collec- 
tions of  her  various  small  delights  stamped  her  im- 
pression in  many  rooms.  Fay  had  adored  boxes  and 
fans,  she  had  collected  tiny  models  of  shoes  from 
every  place  where  her  own  feet  had  rested  in  her 
travels  with  Tony ;  the  boxes — lovely,  delicate,  min- 
iature things  of  shell,  and  enamel  and  jewels — lay 
about,  some  filled  with  cigarettes;  the  fans  were 
framed  and  unframed,  you  trod  the  highways  and 
cobbled  parts  of  Europe  in  tiny  shoes  fashioned  in 
Bucharest,  Madrid,  Maggiore,  or  Biarritz. 

Tony  had  sometimes  bought  a  box  and  had  never 
failed  to  receive  delighted  thanks  for  his  thought 
and  choice  and  general  dearness ;  but  since  he  knew 
nothing  of  boxes  whatever,  save  as  square,  oblong 
or  round  effects  which  opened  and  shut,  and  since 
Fay's  love  for  him  had  not  rendered  his  discrimina- 
tion sapient,  the  worst  examples  vanished  dis- 
creetly. 

He  sat  on  in  the  rose  garden ;  the  shadows  from 
the  avenue  began  to  stretch  out  across  the  park,  a 
clock  chimed  from  the  stable-yard,  intensifying  by 
its  solitary  notes  the  soft  mournfulness  of  the 
drooping  sunset. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  79 

A  feeling  of  utter  desolation,  of  depression  so 
deep  it  was  like  a  smothering  pall  held  Tony. 

He  had  the  ghastly  sense :  "  I  can't  get  out,  I 
can't  escape.  I've  got  to  go  through  with  it,"  which 
seems  to  rob  the  soul  of  power  to  hope,  of  any  vision 
beyond  the  appalling  dreariness  of  the  moment. 

Life  would  go  on,  that  was  all. 

And  people  talked  of  that  as  a  mercy! 

Nick  came  out,  not  running,  but  walking;  he 
stood  in  a  last  patch  of  sunlight  and  lifted  his  head, 
then  steered  towards  Tony. 

He  walked  up  to  him  and  sat  beside  him,  looking 
away.  Tony  stared  down  at  him;  there  was  some- 
thing friendly  somehow  in  the  way  his  stiff  white 
coat  stuck  out  a  little  above  his  collar.  Tony  called 
his  name ;  Nick's  .glance  met  his  in  less  than  a 
second,  it  seemed. 

Tony's  hand  slid  down  into  the  friendly  bit  of 
Nick's  back,  into  the  tufty  little  spike  of  hair,  and 
instantly  Nick  pressed  close  against  his  gaitered 
leg. 

They  sat  together  whilst  the  night  floated  from 
the  sky,  veil  within  veil  of  enshrouding  deep  blue- 
ness.  Tony  was  conscious  of  Nick's  warmth,  Nick 
instinct  with  that  strange  sympathy  which  only  a 
dog  who  loves  you  can  feel. 

He  had  a  touch  of  rheumatism  himself  in  a  hind 
leg,  and  the  grass  was  growing  damp,  but  he  never 
stirred.  At  last  Tony  got  up,  and  Nick  raised  him- 


80  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

self  very  gingerly ;  they  began  the  walk  back  to  the 
house. 

Tony  said: 

"  I've  settled  it  then.  I  shall  get  off  as  soon  as  I 
can.  I  can't  stay  here.  And  there's  nothing  to  keep 
me.  The  children  will  be  taken  good  care  of.  To 
sit  through  the  days  like  this — to  lie  awake — night 
after  night  ...  I  cannot  do  it.  It's  settled,  I  clear." 


CHAPTER  V 

"  Observation  is  the  most  enduring  of  the  pleasures  of  life" 

GEORGE  MEREDITH. 

AFTER  he  had  dined  Tony  ordered  the  car  and 
drove  over  to  "  Pointers,"  a  house  on  the  ex- 
treme borders  of  his  estate,  inhabited  now  by 
his  aunt,  Mrs.  Stafford,  known  to  her  own  world  and 
all  her  relatives,  by  her  own  request,  as  "  G." 

G  received  him  in  her  dining-room  where  she  was 
finishing  dinner,  as  her  father  had  finished  it  before 
her,  and  his  before  him,  with  extremely  excellent 
port  and  walnuts. 

She  dismissed  the  butler,  a  little,  sad-looking, 
withered  effect,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  as  Tony 
entered,  and  rose  to  greet  him. 

G  prided  herself  on  her  freedom  of  speech,  of  life, 
and  her  knowledge  of  mankind. 

To-night  she  wore  an  evening  gown  which  was 
made  to  resemble  a  man's  court  suit,  and  became 
her  well. 

She  was  slight,  short,  and  silver-haired,  and  she 
had  lately  had  her  hair  cut  en  brosse,  which,  oddly 
enough,  became  her. 

She  had  magnificent  dark  eyes,  whose  darkness 
she  intensified  by  shadowing  them  with  bistre 

81 


82  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

circles ;  for  forty  years  she  had  used  the  same  scent, 
which  was  made  for  her  by  a  French  firm.  She 
greeted  Tony  in  that  style  which  she  had  affected 
before  he  had  been  thought  of,  and  had  seen  no 
cause  to  alter  since  the  event  of  his  birth. 

"  Well,  you  poor  devil ! "  she  said  in  her  ex- 
tremely attractive  voice,  "  I  bet  you  have  come  to 
tell  me  you  mean  to  clear  out,  and  to  ask  me  to  look 
after  things  for  you?  " 

Tony  said  slowly :  "  You're  right,  I  have." 

"  Bound  to,"  G  retorted,  her  black  eyes  flashing 
with  amusement.  "  Better  have  some  port.  No?  A 
whisky  then?  For  God's  sake  drink  something.  The 
men  of  this  generation  fatigue  me  by  their  incom- 
petence. If  we,  or  rather  they,  are  not  careful,  the 
degrading  responsibility  of  saddling  the  most  con- 
servative and  best-bred  nation  in  the  world  with  the 
lemon-squash  idiocies  of  upstart  colonies  and  fer- 
menting republics  will  rest  on  them.  Your  father 
drank,  and  his,  and  his,  and  his,  and  they  made  you. 
Carry  on,  I  suggest?" 

She  took  a  box  of  cigars  to  Tony,  resumed  her 
seat  and  said:  "Well?" 

"  I  can't  stick  it,  G,"  Tony  said  heavily. 
"  Cowardly,  if  you  like,  I  don't  care.  I  am  off.  I 
telephoned  to  town  and  found  Cochran  at  the  club ; 
he'll  go  with  me." 

"Whereto?" 

"  Oh !  Africa,  India ;  it  doesn't  matter.  Anywhere 
away." 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  83 

"  Best  thing  for  you.  Why  not  go  my  trip?  The 
one  I  made  in  '96?  I  have  the  maps,  details  and 
so  on." 

"  We  might,"  Tony  said  rather  vaguely. 
G  stirred  her  coffee. 

"You   had  better,   I  think.     So   consider   that 
settled.   Now,  for  my  instructions." 
"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  Tony  murmured. 
G  gave  a  little  exasperated  "  click." 
"  For  God's  sake  have  one  decent  idea,  my  good 
man.    The  children,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do 
with  them?" 

"Emilia  is  trustworthy,  but  I  wish  you'd  see 
them  daily,  G." 

"  I  should  have  done  that  without  a  suggestion 
from  you,"  G  said  tranquilly.  "  Your  son  has  cer- 
tain claims  on  his  people,  I  consider." 

She  studied  Tony's  expressionless  face  keenly. 
"  Come  along,  I  will  play  to  you  probably.  You 
will  think  that  unfeeling,  but  in  point  of  fact  noth- 
ing is  unfeeling  which  serves  to  distract  an  obsessed 
mind.  On  the  contrary.  I  wish  I  had  known  you 
were  coming ;  I  would  have  sent  for  Lygon  and  that 
good-natured  imbecile  Letitia,  whose  sole  sense  is  a 
card  one,  and  we  might  have  had  a  game.  However, 
its  rather  late  now.  Do  not  look  so  bovinely  dis- 
tressed ;  I  am  aware  grief  is  immortal,  and  sacred, 
and  the  '  thing,'  but  only  those  to  whom  it  is  quite 
new  really  believe  that !  When  you  pull  down  your 
first  shot  you  will  appreciate  what  I  am  saying. 


84  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

You  do  not  believe  that  either,  but  no  matter.  I 
will  play  you  the  '  Liebes  Traum,'  I  think.  Do  have 
another  whisky." 

Tony  followed  her  into  the  drawing-room ;  it  was 
rather  bare,  beautifully  lit  by  reflection,  and  con- 
tained a  piano  with  Corot  panels  inset. 

Two  Sealyhams  rose  in  a  window  seat,  fell  off  it, 
and  greeted  Tony. 

"Amor  and  Psyche,  be  quiet,"  G  ordered,  and 
they  subsided  instantly. 

G  took  off  her  rings,  even  her  wedding  ring,  which 
was  so  thin  it  was  a  mere  thread.  "  Why  brandish 
one's  fate  in  the  faces  of  others?  "  she  had  asked. 
"  It  merely  precludes  good  flirtation,  and  makes 
people  think  you  far  more  respectable  than  you 
would  ever  wish  to  be !  "  and  then  began  to  play. 

She  played  magnificently,  with  power,  restraint 
and  delicacy. 

Tony  smoked  and  stared  at  the  black  oak  floor 
which  gleamed  in  the  soft  light,  then  at  his  aunt; 
the  music  had  disturbed  his  thoughts ;  he  began  to 
wonder  aimlessly  what  G  had  been  like  in  her  youth, 
which  he  had  been  told  had  been  both  triumphant 
and  devastating.  He  could  believe  it,  studying  her 
profile,  listening  to  the  waves  of  sound  caught  up  by 
her  frail  hands  and  flung  into  space ;  she  had  domi- 
nance and,  with  it,  temperament. 

Abruptly,  she  ceased  playing,  and  faced  him. 

"  Now  then !  I  was  right,  hein?  About  the  for- 
getting? "  Her  eyes  laughed  at  him. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  85 

"And  you  feel  it  disloyal  to  forget,  d'you  not? 
My  dear,  loyalty  at  its  best  should  be  a  spiritual 
and  actual  defence  of  the  one  we  love;  it  should 
never  be  what  most  people  make  it,  and  more 
imagine  it  ought  to  be — a  leech-like  sticking  to  one 
idea,  one  person!  Humanity  has  such  fatiguing 
admiration  for  limitation ;  indeed,  most  of  us  believe 
that  only  those  states  of  being  which  are  static  are 
praiseworthy!  Change,  flux,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it,  is  nearly  always  resented  and  derided." 

She  came  and  leant  against  the  mantelpiece 
directly  before  Tony,  one  extremely  slender  foot 
poised  on  the  low  fender  seat ;  there  was  no  tender- 
ness in  the  long  look  she  bent  on  him,  but  there  was 
very  human  interest;  mentally  she  reviewed  his 
future,  and  did  it  ably :  he  would  not  marry  again, 
he  would  become  heavier ;  he  had  one  type  of  nature 
which  is  such  a  boon  to  Catholicism,  the  "  accept- 
ing" type,  which  canonizes  gratefully;  Tony  had 
already  canonized  Francesca. 

G  considered  gravely  the  marvel  of  influence 
Francesca  had  exercised  during  her  lifetime ;  Tony 
had  been  almost  interesting  then,  because  his  nature 
had  been  drawn  out  by  Francesca's  ceaseless  affec- 
tion ;  it  seemed  rather  as  if  some  natures,  natures 
of  definite  "  grip  "  and  vividness,  could  inject  them- 
selves into  other  less  vital  ones  and  tone  them  up. 

Very  obviously  this  process  had  ceased ;  it  did  not 
endure,  its  effect  was  not  lasting,  and  really  Tony 
was  rather  boring. 


86  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Good  God !  "  G  said  to  herself  suddenly,  "  the 
actual  hideous  cruelty  of  one  human  being  towards 
another !  There  is  this  poor  devil  utterly  up  against 
it,  and  because  he  is  dull  I  wish  that  he  would  go. 
I  wonder  if  many  people  are  as  hard,  or  would  own 
how  much  of  their  sympathy  is  set  to  time?  And,  it's 
time  Tony  went,  indubitably !  " 

He  got  up  as  she  reached  that  thought. 

"  I  must  be  off,  my  dear.  So  you'll  come  over  and 
see  to  things  and  so  on?  " 

"  Yes.   Good-bye,  m'dear." 

He  came  back. 

"  I  feel  I  am  thrusting  a  responsibility  on  you, 
G,  but  you  are  to  be  trusted." 

"  That's  the  one  decent  quality  I  do  possess,  and 
it  springs  from  a  steel-like  pride!  Extraordinary 
how  many  of  our  virtues  are,  as  it  were,  caught  in 
a  vice !  Good-bye  again,  my  dear,  and  thank  you  for 
coming  to  me." 

She  watched  him  start  up  his  car,  and  watched 
the  last  glint  of  his  rear-light,  like  a  scarlet  star, 
wink  in  the  darkness  and  disappear  as  the  car 
swung  into  the  road. 

Then  she  lit  a  cigarette  and  walked  out  into  the 
garden. 

Frankly,  the  idea  of  responsibility  bored  her  ex- 
tremely; perhaps  only  her  pride  had  made  her 
accept  it ;  she  could  not  be  "  let  down  "  in  her  own 
estimation. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  87 

She  wondered  idly,  speculating,  as  she  often  did, 
how  many  people,  if  they  were  quite,  quite  honest, 
did  things  from  a  purely  altruistic  standpoint?  She 
suspected,  very  few! 

At  any-  rate,  at  sixty  her  own  altruism  was  not 
a  sturdy  growth;  and  instinct  of  noblesse  oblige 
ruled  her  life,  served  her  most  ably  for  other  virtues. 

The  people  about  loved  her  for  her  generosity, 
her  friends  for  her  wit,  her  relatives  for  her  dis- 
cretion. 

There  was  about  her  that  bright  hardness  which 
is  so  often  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  those 
favoured  mortals  who  have  never  known  a  day's 
illness  in  their  lives. 

G  had  never  missed  a  meet,  never  lost  a  day's 
yachting,  and  explored  Africa.  Stafford  had  died 
in  an  effort  to  keep  up  with  her,  her  enemies  said; 
in  point  of  fact  he  had  died  more  reasonably,  and 
had  always  adored  his  wife.  Of  course  he  had  been 
rather  weak  (a  detail  G  had  concealed  from  the 
world)  and  charming,  exactly  the  man  a  strong 
woman  generally  marries,  and  then  makes  a  success. 

It  had  been  rather  impossible  to  make  a  success 
of  Stafford  because  he  had  had  no  desire  to  do  any- 
thing, so  G  had  turned  him  into  an  explorer. 

To-night,  oddly  enough,  she  thought  of  his  death, 
and  her  own  first  queer  feeling  of  relief  that  her 
freedom  had  been  given  back  to  her,  that  she  no 
more  need  order  her  life  to  keep  step  with  another 


88  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

life,  however  desultory  the  march,  or  frequent  and 
prolonged  the  halts ! 

They  had  had  one  son,  who  had  died. 

G  let  her  cigarette  go  out ;  even  at  sixty,  with  forty 
years  between  that  death  and  to-night,  the  wound 
hurt. 

But  it  brought  with  it  the  memory  of  Tony's  boy, 
of  whom  she  was  to  take  charge. 

She  decided  she  would  go  over  the  next  morning. 

After  all,  the  responsibility,  she  thought  as  she 
walked  to  the  house,  had  its  attraction! 

In  her  low,  wide  room  her  maid  was  waiting,  a 
hard-featured  but  devoted  woman  rejoicing  in  the 
wholly  inappropriate  name  of  "  Sweet."  She  sighed 
as  G  entered. 

G  walked  to  the  big  chair  before  the  looking-glass 
and  sat  down  and  held  out  one  foot;  she  made  no 
comment  on  Sweet's  obvious  depression,  evidenced 
by  smothered  sighs  and  darkest  looks,  as  she  drew 
off  the  black  satin  shoes  with  their  scarlet  heels  and 
produced  a  pair  of  purple  monies,  leant  back  and 
sniffed  prodigiously,  an  air  of  relentless  confidence 
on  her  face. 

"  Very  sad.  I  agree  with  you,"  G  said  briefly. 

Sweet  cast  at  her  mistress  that  glance  of  resigned 
bitterness  which  springs  from  a  sense  of  defrauded- 
ness,  the  knowledge  that  someone  knows  beforehand 
what  we  meant  to  tell  them  en  surprise  later ! 

She  kept  silence. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  89 

G  felt  a  little  wry  amusement;  Sweet  was 
actually  "  playing  up." 

"  Get  me  out  of  this  kit  quickly,  and  then  you  can 
leave  me.  I  can  manage,"  she  said  pleasantly. 

Sweet  flung  an  agonized  glance  at  the  raftered 
ceiling.  Was  every  gloomiest  joy  thus  to  be  snapped 
from  her?  Never! 

As  she  began  to  hang  up  the  black  velvet  dress 
she  moaned  clearly,  turned,  and  ejaculated  pro- 
foundly : 

"  Motherless — fatherless " 

"  Sisterless — brotherless  in  this  case  too/'  G 
agreed.  She  had  often  felt  that  Bernhardt  had  lost 
a  pupil  in  Sweet. 

"  Crooil — crooil  hard,  mam,"  Sweet  went  on  in 
determined  abandonment.  "Where,  I  ask  myself 
in  all  'umility,  are  'is  lordship's  father's  feelings?  " 

"Vested  in  me  for  the  time  being," G  said  blandly. 

Sweet's  stricken  countenance  underwent  a 
marked  change ;  caution  replaced  despair ;  curiosity 
pity. 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  mean,  mam,  that,  so  to 
speak,  'is  lordship's  little  son — and  adopted  child 
will  be  settlin'  here?  " 

G  very  nearly  exclaimed  with  perfect  natural- 
less,  "  God  forbid,"  but  checked  herself  in  time. 

Instead,  mellifluously,  she  told  Sweet  that  Provi- 
dence walked  in  varied  ways.  What  would  be,  would 
be ;  and  added,  that  all  things  worked  together  for 
good  if  a  household  staff  were  adaptable. 


90  ALMOND  BLOSSOM 

Sweet,  gathering  up  a  pile  of  ribbons  and  muslin, 
halted  at  the  door. 

"  I  wish  you  good  night,  mam,"  she  said  lugubri- 
ously; "if  so  be  you  can  enjoy  rest,  the  future 
loomin'  before  you." 

G,  drawing  a  novel  towards  her,  was  not  certain 
she  had  won  the  day ;  the  future  certainly  "loomed/' 

In  spirit  she  raised  her  hat  to  Sweet. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  Happy  hearts  and  happy  faces, 
Happy  play  in  grassy  places — 
That  was  how,  in  ancient  ages, 
Children  grew  to  kings  and  sages. 

"  But  the  unkind  and  the  unruly, 
And  the  sort  who  eat  unduly, 
They  must  never  hope  for  glory  ; 
Theirs  is  quite  a  different  story!  " 

R.  L.  S. 

WHEN  G  discovered,  some  months  after  Ms 
father's  departure,  that  Rex  was  very 
slightly  crippled,  she  cabled  to  Tony  for 
his  instructions ;  when  none  came  she  began  to  pil- 
grimage to  famous  surgeons. 

In  her  code  it  was  a  thing  unforgivable,  it  should 
have  been  impossible,  for  one  of  the  family  to  be 
maimed,  for  the  stock  to  have  a  blemish.  The  idea 
was  repugnant  and  humiliating,  and  paradoxically 
it  awoke  in  her  the  strongest  emotion  she  had  ever 
known ;  there  sprang  up  for  Rex  a  love  which  had 
never  bloomed  for  any  other  living  being,  even  her 
own  son. 

Patiently,  tirelessly,  she  journeyed  with  Rex  and 
Emilia  and  Doro  to  Paris,  New  York,  Geneva, 
Berlin,  Copenhagen,  in  search  of  some  man  who 

91 


92  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

could  make  a  tiny  crooked  limb  straight,  and  she 
would  have  travelled  to  Thibet  had  she  received 
assurance  that  the  miracle  could  be  performed 
there. 

Of  Tony  she  had  no  news ;  occasionally  a  message 
came  from  him  containing  no  information,  save  a 
rough  indication  of  his  whereabouts  probably  two 
months  earlier.  G  bothered  not  at  all  about  him; 
he  would  return ;  the  "  code  "  allowed  the  men  of 
the  family  to  roam;  they  invariably  came  back  to 
Hurstpoint;  the  code  decreed  that  they  should. 

When  Hex  was  eight  and  had  been  seen  by,  and 
made  firm  friends  with,  about  a  dozen  most  eminent 
surgeons  of  the  day,  they  returned  en  famille  to 
settle  down  at  home. 

"  An'  a  good  thing  too,"  Doro  said.  "  I  can  ride 
now,  can't  I,  G?  " 

"  Naturally,"  G  agreed. 

But  she  had  not  bargained  for  a  vision  of  her 
adopted  relative  seated  on  a  pony  which  bucked  the 
very  first  morning  of  their  arrival,  stable-boys  and 
grooms  in  hot  pursuit,  and  Doro's  head  upflung,  her 
face  extremely  white,  her  green  eyes  blazing  with 
terrified  yet  glorious  excitement.  . 

G  and  Jlex  watched  her;  G  secretly  trembling  a 
little,  Emilia  openly  wailing. 

The  pony  bucked  down  the  avenue;  a  groom 
approached  him,  and  he  went  off  at  a  gallop. 

Doro  sat  well  back,  her  small  hands  gripping  the 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  93 

rough  mane,  her  own  curls  blown  back  like  a  dark 
flame. 

"Gad!"  G  told  herself,  "if  I  didn't  know  the 
child  had  no  breeding,  I  should  swear  she  had !  " 

Doro  landed  almost  at  her  feet,  and  faced  her 
instantly. 

"  You  said  '  naturally '  when  I  asked,"  she  stated. 
She  was  visibly  trembling,  but  she  stood  her  ground. 

Emilia  caught  her  up  in  her  arms,  and  began  to 
kiss  her  wildly. 

"  Put  Miss  Doro  down,"  G  commanded  instantly. 
She  held  out  her  veined,  slender  hand  to  Doro. 

"From  to-day  you  will  ride  with  a  groom  and 
leading  rein,  my  dear." 

"  I  adore  you,"  Doro  replied  intensely.  She  had 
heard  Pasquale  Greville  say  that  to  G,  and  had  seen 
her  smile;  besides,  she  was  grateful  and  wanted  to 
say  so,  and  particularly,  say  it  rightly. 

"TJhank  you,"  G  responded  as  gravely.  "You 
had  better  let  Emilia  undress  and  bathe  you  now. 
When  you  are  ready  let  her  bring  you  to  Rex  and 
me  on  the  terrace." 

Greville,  home  on  a  brief  leave,  and  amused  by 
G,  was  staying  at  the  house;  he  strolled  on  to  the 
terrace  now,  his  head  gleaming  in  the  sunshine,  a 
cigarette  between  Ips  lips. 

"  Where  have  you  been?  "  G  asked  him. 

"  In  the  library." 

"  You  missed  a  rather  enjoyable  and  quite  nerve- 
devastating  sight.  Doro  managed  to  mount  one  of 


94  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

the  ponies  and  rode  it  down  the  avenue — the  beast 
bucked  badly;  she  did  not  fall." 

"  I  wish  I  had  seen  that,"  Greville  agreed,  "  a 
thoroughly  good  sight.  One  imagines,  G,  that  child 
will  be  a  personality  some  day.  No  nerves,  superb 
health,  green  eyes,  and  made  rather  like  a  mythical 
being,  so  straightly  and  fairly.  What  will  you  bet, 
my  dear,  that  she  won't  fashion  life?  " 

"  It  is  a  pity  she  is  not  of  our  blood,"  G  returned 
rather  absently. 

Doro  appeared,  walking  towards  them;  she  had 
on  a  little  holland  frock  and  white  socks  with  black 
strap  shoes ;  she  looked  innocuous,  extremely  pretty 
and  marvellously  clean,  the  typical  good  child  of 
the  fairy  tale. 

"  Hullo,  Alice,"  Greville  called,  "  come  here !  " 

She  went  obediently  and,  leaning  against  him,, 
bent  to  smell  the  tiny  gloire  de  Dijon  in  his  button- 
hole. "  I  hear  you  have  been  very  enterprising." 

"  What  does  that  mean?  " 

"  Oh,  courageous  and  adventurous,  daring,  in 
your  understanding." 

"  That's  a  good  deal  to  make  one  word  mean," 
Doro  said.  "  Do  you  pay  it  extra?  " 

Greville  was  delighted  with  her  quickness ;  he  had 
called  her  "  Alice,"  but  he  had  not  expected  her  to 
know  her  "  Looking  Glass  "  so  well,  even  had  she 
caught  the  allusion. 

"  I  think  I  should  win  my  bet?  "  he  remarked  to 
G  over  Doro's  head. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  95 

"A  good  memory  proves  very  little,"  G  said, 
rather  tartly.  "  The  dullest  people  often  have  one, 
and  take  it  to  themselves  to  glory,  and  even  seem  to 
consider  it  an  achievement.  Why !  Heaven  knows ! 
Since  it  is  mostly  a  matter  of  chance,  like  having  a 
squint  or  the  wrong  sort  of  speaking  voice;  you 
either  have  it  or  you  haven't,  despite  all  this  craze 
for  mental  exercises  to  strengthen  the  memory, 
which  of  course  only  benefit  people  who  have  one 
already,  and  for  them  to  pay  a  fee  for  such  a  pur- 
pose is  on  a  par — to  my  way  of  thinking — with 
thanking  your  feet  for  walking!  However,  evolu- 
tion, I  suppose,  and  it  helps  the  mania  for  self- 
analysis — a  most  dangerous  interest,  I  consider ;  as 
if  everyone  of  us,  if  we  ever  do  confess  honestly, 
did  not  spend  all  our  spare  time  concentrating  on 
ourselves !  And  now  to  invent  excuses  to  enable  one 
to  do  it  more  intensively !  Psycho-analysis  will  be 
the  ruin  of  quick  living  (the  only  way  to  live)  and 
nice  slow  thinking  that  never  hampered  your  action 
at  all!  And  those  things  have  kept  the  world  a 
pretty  decent  place  up  to  now,  take  it  all  in  all! 
Meddling  with  instincts,  focusing  any  interest  on 
'em  is  a  mistake,  believe  me.  Dissection  only  serves 
one  purpose,  the  growth  of  practical  knowledge,  and 
one's  instincts,  like  the  origin  of  fire,  will  for  ever 
remain  an  eternal  mystery.  And  should  do.  'Pon 
my  soul,  it's  a  relief  to  me  to  think  there  is  some- 
thing that  can't  be  explained  by  science — or 
muddled  up  by  it." 


96  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Her  eyes  rested  almost  tragically  on  Hex  as  he1 
ran  across  to  Doro. 

"One  is  expected  to  grant  science  supernatural 
power,  and  it  has  not  yet  discovered  how  to 
straighten  a  crooked.limb !  " 

Greville  stirred;  like  all  men  of  his  type,  any 
emotion  of  a  distressing  nature  vaguely  annoyed 
him. 

"  Rex's  limb  .will  not  handicap  him,"  he  said  in- 
differently. "He  is  quite  a  decent  height  for  his 
age — he  will  probably  grow  tall,  like  all  of  us — and 
he  is  a  good-looking  little  beggar." 

Rex  turned  towards  them  as  he  spoke;  he  was 
standing  on  the  terrace  steps  and  his  deformity  was 
concealed ;  the  sun  poured  over  him,  making  his  fair 
hair  a  cap  of  gleaming  gold,  throwing  into  his  dark 
eyes  little  golden  dancing  reflections. 

G's  mouth  softened  as  she  looked  at  him,  quivered 
a  very  little;  and  she  said  with  determination: 
"  Special  stirrups  of  course,  and  so  on.  One  .can 
arrange  everything." 

"Is  he  at  all  nervous?"  Greville  asked  perfunc- 
torily. There  was  in  his  voice  none  of  the  amused 
pleasure  it  had  held  whilst  he  had  spoken  of  Doro ; 
intuitively  he  resented  Rex's  shortened  limb;  such 
a  thing  offended  his  sense  of  the  beautiful  which  he 
had  cultivated  until  it  had  become  of  a  diseased 
fastidiousness. 

He  had  that  vague  contempt  for  Rex  some  people 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  97 

always  feel  with  regard  to  any  oddity  in  life  or 
humanity. 

G  laughed  lightly — derisively. 

"  My  dear  Pan !  " 

The  tone,  the  laugh,  stirred  Greville's  vanity, 
never  a  heavy  sleeper;  he  was  used  to  quiescence 
from  women,  young  or  old. 

He  said  now,  his  beautiful  eyes  half  closed,  a 
faint  smile  on  his  lips : 

"  Doro's  stunt  would  have  been  rather  beyond 
him,  alas ! " 

"  Doro  is  nearly  three  years  older  than  Kex,"  G 
said  in  the  sharp  voice  of  hurt  age.  She  rose  and 
went  to  Rex  and  took  his  hand  and  walked  away 
with  him,  keeping  him  on  the  side  of  her  farthest 
from  Greville's  vision. 

Rex  went  with  her  gaily ;  he  adored  her,  had  no 
fear  of  her  whatever;  there  was  between  them  the 
strangest,  strongest  companionship  and  genuine 
love. 

Perhaps  because  of  his  poor  foot,  perhaps  merely 
owing  to  the  very  forceful  impression  of  herself,  her 
views,  G  left  on  people,  Rex  was,  without  being 
precocious,  or  even  advanced,  extremely  under- 
standing. 

He  was  still  a  very  little  boy,  but  he  had  a  natural 
sweetness,  a  rather  penetrating  sweetness  somehow, 
and  all  the  reckless  delightfulness  of  childhood, 
allied  to  a  mentality  intensely  stimulated  by  G,  and 


98  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

one  which  had  received  a  good  deal  of  assistance 
towards  development  from  his  wandering  life. 

G  had  taught  him  to  read  very  early,  and,  at  the 
age  of  eight  and  a  half  he  read  as  he  chose  and  his 
choice  was  decidedly  interesting ;  he  adored  horses 
and  had  a  great  love  of  boxing,  and  had  read  nearly 
every  old  book  in  the  big  library  on  both  subjects. 
And  he  adored  fairy  stories  too  and  funny  long  tales 
out  of  the  old  "Household  Words,"  which  filled  one 
shelf. 

His  speech  was  polyglot,  and  the  more  attractive 
because  it  was  so ;  Emilia  talked  to  him  in  Spanish, 
G  often  spoke  French;  Kex  used  bits  of  either 
language.  He  had  a  certain  very  charming  clear- 
ness of  enunciation  and  deliberation  in  his  speech 
which  gave  an  odd,  rather  dear  little  effect  of 
dignity. 

Perhaps  this  had  been  fostered  by  G's  insistence 
that  he  should,  directly  he  was  old  enough,  take  his 
own  position  in  the  house ;  she  had  explained  to  him 
that  he  represented  his  father  and  that  to  do  so  wag 
a  distinction.  Rex,  like  every  child,  loved  playing  a 
part,  and  secretly  enjoyed  his  role  enormously. 
Entirely  normal,  despite  his  collection  of  attributes, 
he  had  days  of  devilishness  like  every  other  small 
boy,  and  very  usual  needs  and  "  wants." 

To-day  Doro's  spirited  performance  had  naturally 
made  him  long  to  go  and  do  likewise. 

He  said  so. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  99 

"  G?  " 

"  Yes,  darling." 

"  I  too  should  like  to  ride,  I  think,  hein?  " 

G's  hold  on  his  hand  tightened  for  a  moment. 

"  You  are  not  quite  big  enough." 

"  I  could  have  a  very  little  pony,  my  darling,  the 
littlest  ever." 

He  had  a  store  of  what  he  called  "  dear  words  " 
which  he  used  solely  for  G,  and  for  which  loyalty,  in 
her  heart,  she  worshipped  him. 

She  looked  down  and  met  his  eyes,  determined, 
very  clear  and  hopeful. 

"You  do  not  think  you  would  be  frightened, 
Rex?  " 

"  Doro  wasn't." 

"  Doro  is  older." 

"  Do  you  think  that  matters,  my  love?  If  I  would 
be  frightened,  I  'spect  I'll  be  it  later  on  just  as  easily 
as  now." 

He  stopped  and  stood  before  her,  and  said  with 
eager  earnestness : 

"  Let's  just — just  take  a  very  little  look  at  the 
stables,  shall  we?  " 

It  was  noon,  the  stable-yard  was  hot  and  empty, 
the  pleasant  sound  of  water  rushing  somewhere 
above  broke  the  silence. 

"  This  is  where  Rufus  lives,"  Kex  announced. 
"  He  is  no  end  of  a  devil,  Sam  says." 

G  laughed.  She  opened  Rufus's  door  and  went  in 
to  him ;  back  went  his  sleek  little  ears,  he  shivered, 


100  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

the  whites  of  his  wicked  beautiful  eyes  showed  for  a 
second. 

"  Put  me  up,  put  me  up,  G,"  Rex  begged,  shiver- 
ing, too,  with  excitement,  his  eyes  blazing,  his 
yellow  hair  ruffled  by  an  impatient  hand. 

G  lifted  him  easily,  but  she  was  short,  and  Rex 
was  not  very  big;  he  caught  at  Rufus's  mane  and 
tugged  himself  on  to  his  back.  Rufus  lashed  out 
with  temper,  but  G,  to  whom  fear  was  a  thing  un- 
known, never  moved,  though  about  her  there  seemed 
a  welter  of  little,  vicious  gleaming  hoofs  and  white- 
rimmed,  angry  eyes. 

But  Rex  screamed  once,  and  as  if  it  had  been  a 
command,  Rufus  stopped  kicking  and  was  still. 

G  lifted  Rex  down ;  neither  spoke ;  in  the  stable- 
yard  Greville  was  standing;  he  had  been  watching 
with  Doro.  G's  face  coloured  very  slowly,  very 
faintly;  she  met  Greville's  smile. 

"Ah!  you  here?  Hot,  isn't  it?  And  surely  it 
must  be  nearly  lunch-time?  " 

Rex's  hand  was  quivering,  and  unclasping  within 
hers.  Greville  looked  at  his  wrist-watch ;  then  his 
amused  glance  rested  on  his  small  nephew. 

"  Still  frightened?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  Rex  said.  His  voice  shook  a  very  little. 

Greville  laughed. 

"  Doro  will  have  to  teaeh  you,"  he  said  teasingly ; 
"  she  is  brave,  anyway !  " 

Rex  went  on  looking  quite  directly  at  Mm,  but 
his  face  flushed  vividly. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  101 

He  loosed  G's  hand  as  Greville  finished  speaking, 
and  sprang  awkwardly  straight  at  him. 

"  You — you  beast/'  he  said  chokingly. 

There  was  a  second's  utter  silence ;  G's  voice  cut 
into  it  imperiously : 

"  Hex,  apologize  to  your  uncle  at  once." 

Kex  turned  to  her,  his  lips  opened,  shut  again. 
G's  eyes,  dominant  to.  all  the  rest  of  the  world, 
appealed  to  him ;  the  colour  drained  slowly  from  his 
face. 

He  said  in  his  quietest  voice : 

"  I  'pologize,  Uncle  Pan." 

He  waited  a  second,  then  alone,  walked  across  the 
big  yard  through  the  high  gates  and  on  towards  the 
house. 

(r,  after  a  moment,  followed  him  slowly. 

Doro  looked  at  Greville,  considering  him  gravely. 

"You  were  a  beast,  you  know,"  she  said  tran- 
quilly. "  Boys  hate  to  be  laughed  at  before  girls. 
So  do  men." 

"  Do  they  indeed !  Why,  I  wonder?  " 

"  'Cos  they  are  so  vain,"  Doro  said  indifferently. 

"And  how  do  you  know  that,  Mademoiselle 
'Sagesse?  " 

"  G  said  so ;  I  heard  her  tell  Lord  Doneymore  in 
Paris,  that  old  thin,  little  man  with  the  moustaches 
like  tiny  white  swords,  who  laughed  in  a  wheeze. 
An'  he  said  being  vain  made  you — it's  a  long  word, 
but  G  said  it  means  get-at-able,  and  if  men  weren't 
so  vain,  women  would  have  a  slow  time.  Why?  " 


102  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Greville,  since  his  stay  at  Hurstpoint,  had  begun 
to  cultivate  towards  the  word  "  why  "  that  feeling 
of  helplessly  enraged  irritation  occasioned  in  the 
soul  by  the  presence  of  an  active  mosquito  when  you 
long  to  sleep,  and  cannot  catch  the  insect,  and  are 
powerless  to  resist  it. 

"  Why?  "  Doro  asked  again. 

Greville  appealed  for  heavenly  assistance  in  two 
words. 

"  God  knows,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  He  knows  everything,"  Doro  returned 
sapiently.  "  Mustn't  it  be  queer  never  to  have  to 
wonder,  and  course  He  can't  if  He  always  knows. 
Should  you  like  being  like  that,  Pan?  " 

She  had  called  him  Pan  from  the  very  first. 

The  luncheon  gong  boomed  deeply  from  the 
house. 

Doro  danced  up  and  down. 

"  T.G. — food !  Kace  you  to  the  terrace,  Pan 
darlin'?" 

"  Oh,  I've  a  bone  in  my  leg,"  Greville  protested 
basely. 

"  So  have  I,  so's  everyone,  lots." 

She  let  clear,  kindly  contempt  rest  on  him  for 
that  old  prevarication. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  come  on !  " 

Laughing,  he  raced,  and  asked  Doro  as  they 
reached  the  house  who  allowed  her  to  say  fool? 

"Everyone    says   it,"    Doro    returned   blithely. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  103 

"  Emilia  and  G,  and  Hex  and  me,  you — often,  I've 
heard  you." 

She  danced  into  the  hall  where  lunch  was  laid  on 
a  round  table  in  one  of  the  big  window  embrasures, 
and  gave  a  shriek  of  joy. 

"  Duck  —  oh,  duck  —  how  heavenly !  Lots  of 
stuffin',  please,  Wyckham,"  she  commanded  the 
butler,  "  and  get  a  move  on,  too,  please." 

G  corrected  her,  laughed,  damned  the  apple  sauce. 

The  children  at  their  lunch  drank  sherry  in 
special  little  glasses;  G  had  drunk  sherry  in  her 
childhood,  and  had  still,  as  she  phrased  it,  the  palate 
of  a  gourmande  and  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich! 
Two  facts  which  proved  to  her  conclusive  satisfac- 
tion that  her  upbringing  was  worthy  of  imitation. 

Rex,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  looked  pale  but 
composed ;  he  was  deadly  polite  to  Greville. 

He  was  just  a  little  boy  in  a  thousand  ways,  but 
in  one  or  two  others  he  was  extraordinarily  ad- 
vanced, and  he  had  been  encouraged  to  exercise  his 
intuition.  Now,  sitting  at  the  head  of  his  table,  G 
facing  him  at  the  other  end,  he  watched  his  guest 
with  steady,  dark  eyes,  and  hated  him.  From  that 
day  he  resented  Greville  in  his  life  and  despised 
him. 

For  his  vanity  had  not  been  hurt,  but  his  trust  in 
the  decency  of  those  grown-ups  who  belonged  to 
him,  and  should  therefore  have  been  generous,  had 
been  destroyed  in  the  case  of  Greville  for  ever  by 
his  taunt. 


104  ALMOND-BLOSSOM  j 

"I  was  afraid,  but  I  did  stick  on,"  Hex  told 
himself. 

From  that  day  he  never  willingly  stayed  with 
Greville,  or  talked  closely  with  him. 

To-day  his  funny  little  dignity,  which  can  make  a 
child  so  unapproachable,  visibly  surrounded  him. 

He  had  the  quaintest,  yet  quite  natural,  old- 
fashioned  manners,  severe  and  stately,  inculcated 
by  G,  and  now  he  sat  at  lunch  with  his  kinsman 
when  G  and  Doro  had  left,  waiting  with  patient 
courtesy  until  Greville  should  have  drunk  his 
cognac  and  coffee,  when  he  would  be  free  to  go. 

"What  are  you  doing  this  afternoon?"  Greville 
asked  him  idly. 

"I  don't  know,"  Eex  answered ;  like  all  children  he 
detested  questions. 

"  Going  to  read — drive ?  " 

« I  don't  think  so." 

"  Doesn't  anyone  plan  your  time  for  you?  " 

"  No." 

Rex's  composure,  which  Greville  chose  to  con- 
sider merely  conceit,  a  result  of  having  been  badly 
spoilt,  irritated  him  obscurely;  he  knew,  with  the 
quick  intuition  of  vanity,  he  had  lost  ground  with 
Rex,  and  he  felt  resentment  against  Rex  for  having 
put  him  in  a  position  to  do  so. 

Behind,  on  the  terrace,  invisible  to  Rex,  a  figure 
halted — a  man's;  he  walked  towards  the  window. 
Greville's  eyes  expressed  a  second's  intense  sur- 
prise ;  then  he  said,  very  languidly : 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  105 

"  Ah,  Tony ! "  and  to  Eex,  "  Your  father." 

Eex  wheeled  on  the  instant,  his  small  face,  dead 
white  with  excitement,  gazed  into  the  dark  one  of 
the  man  before  him. 

He  was  a  highly-strung  boy;  he  hesitated,  then 
flushed  scarlet,  then  advanced. 

"  I — I  am  Eex,  your  son,"  he  said. 

Tony  bent  down  and  picked  him  up ;  then  oddly, 
awkwardly,  set  him  on  his  feet  again  very  quickly. 

"  Tell  the  people  I  am  back,  will  you,  Pasquale?  " 
he  said  in  a  curiously  slow  voice. 

Greville  left  the  room ;  Tony  and  Rex  were  alone 
together. 

Tony  sat  down  suddenly. 

"  Gome  here,"  he  said  to  Eex. 

Eex  went  unhesitatingly  and  stood  between  his 
knees,  a  small  hand  on  each;  the  two  looked  long 
at  one  another. 

"  You  didn't — didn't  write  much,"  Eex  said. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not." 

Eex  struggled  to  make  conversation. 

"Am  I  like  the  son  you — you  thought  I  would 
be?" 

"  You're  damn  like  her"  Tony  said  heavily. 

His  utterance  was  almost  uncouth ;  he  had  lived 
alone  so  long  that  speech  had  become  a  rare  thing 
with  him.  All  the  years  he  had  spoken  but  when  he 
had  been  forced  to  do  so ;  for  the  last  four  years  he 
had  been  the  only  white  man  within  a  radius  of  a 
hundred  miles. 


106  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  had  come  home  because  an  epidemic  had 
broken  out  in  his  district;  he  had  given  his  house 
as  a  hospital,  and  watched  men  die  by  the  score. 

He  had  not  intended  to  return  even  when  he  had 
left  Saiwunga ;  but  he  had  trekked  to  a  port,  and  a 
boat  had  been  leaving,  and  he  had  found  several 
letters  of  G's,  and  he  had  thought  he  might  as  well 
go  back  for  a  little. 

London  had  terrified  him,  he  had  become  blunted ; 
but  fear  had  pierced  his  heavy  armour  of  insensi- 
bility, and  he  had  fled,  as  one  possessed,  haunted, 
to  Hurstpoint. 

He~felt  nothing  now  save  a  dull  perplexity.  G 
came  in,  a  bright  spot  of  colour  on  either  thin  cheek, 
and  after  one  swift  glance  at  him,  greeted  him  quite 
casually. 

"  You  haven't  lunched?  " 

"  No." 

"  Ah !  I'll  have  some  sent  in  at  once." 

Wyckham  came  in  with  the  tray,  and  nearly  wept 
with  joy  to  see  his  master,  but  Kexford  merely 
nodded,  muttered  the  man's  name;  the  welcome 
petered  out,  because  a  little  ridiculous. 

Rexford  ate  and  drank  largely;  the  household 
tip-toed  to  the  door,  eager,  glad ;  he  nodded  to  them, 
too,  inarticulately. 

"  What  a  Shavian  rendering  of  the  wanderer's 
return !  "  Greville  murmured  with  malicious  amuse- 
ment. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  107 

He  was  genuinely  amused,  but  G  was  not;  the 
code  demanded  no  hysterical  ebullition,  naturally, 
when  a  member  of  the  clan  came  home,  but  such  a 
return  .  .  .  ! 

She  faced  Tony  across  Ms  own  table,  a  cigarette 
in  her  hand,  her  dark  eyes  glowing. 

"  Antony,  please  listen." 

"  I  am,"  he  said,  in  the  same  stocky,  almost  stupid 
way. 

"  Then  take  heed !  Your  position  demands  certain 
things ;  one  is  consideration  to  those  you  employ.  I 
beg  you  to  show  it.  You  had  better  make  a  little 
speech  of  thanks  for  their  welcome." 

"  Why?  " 

G  brought  a  clenched  hand  down  on  the  dark 
wood  table. 

"  Decency  of  feeling ;  your  sense  of  responsi- 
bility." 

"  Eot !  "  Tony  said  lethargically. 

She  looked  closely  at  him ;  this  man  was  the  real 
man,  she  sensed  that  in  the  instant ;  appeal  would 
be  useless. 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  tears  of  grief 
and  a  sharp  humiliation  in  her  eyes ;  she  could  not 
have  described  her  feelings,  but  she  knew  they  were 
poignant  and  pathetic. 

She  turned  to  look  again  at  Tony ;  all  his  fine  air 
of  athleticism  had  gone;  he,  like  his  mind,  had 
thickened ;  it  was  almost  as  if  some  invisible  coat- 
ing had  been  welded  over  him,  not  quite  effacing, 


108  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

but  dimming  all  the  old  features  of  his  personality ; 
he  was  not  obese,  but  he  looked  dully,  solid,  and  his 
face  was  burnt,  and  the  whites  of  his  eyes  perma- 
nently bloodshot  by  the  sun,  his  thick  hair  looked 
lifeless,  his  fingers  broad-tipped  and  uncared  for. 

Of  course,  his  clothes  were  grotesque,  but  that 
could  be  remedied. 

"And  the  rest?"  G  asked  herself  wretchedly. 
"  For  now  I  shall  not  be  expected  to  stay,  and  the 
children — Rex — and  his  father — " 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  sudden  impotence ;  her 
age  seemed  to  crowd  upon  her  in  that  moment ;  she 
felt  the  weight  of  the  years  for  the  first  time. 

She  wheeled  suddenly. 

"  Antony,"  she  said  almost  desperately. 

He  rose  and  crossed  to  her. 

"  What's  up,  G,  my  dear?  " 

"  Antony,  what  do  you  mean  to  do?  " 

"  To  do?  " 

"  Now  you  are  home ;  now  that  you  will  have  the 
children  to  educate?  " 

"  They'll  be  all  right,  won't  they?  I  noticed  the 
boy's  right  foot.  Odd.  A  pity." 

G  laughed  that  she  might  not  cry. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  controlling  her  voice  with 
difficulty,  a  vision  of  those  wearying  pilgrimages  to 
one  surgeon  after  another  trailing  through  her  tired 
mind,  "  oh,  yes,  but  Doro  is  all  right !  " 

"  Good.  I'd  better  see  her,  hadn't  I?  " 

"  I'll  ring  for  her  to  come  down." 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  109 

They  waited  in  silence  for  Doro's  appearance. 

She  came  in  quickly,  her  eyes  saw  Rexford  in- 
stantly ;  she  stood  for  a  second  poised  on  her  narrow 
feet,  her  eyes  wide,  brilliant,  her  lips  parted  a  little. 

Then,  with  a  swallow's  dart,  she  had  reached  him, 
was  clinging  to  him,  calling  his  name :  "  Tony, 
Tony,"  rapturously. 

She  drew  herself  upright  by  clutching  at  his  coat 
and  looked  into  his  face. 

"You've  come  back!  Oh,  heavenly!  G,  isn't  it 
booful  lovely;  oh !  Tony,  aren't  you  glad  to  see  me? 
Yes,  yes,  you  must  be ;  oh,  Tony,  I  love  you." 

Tony's  stolid  face  broke  a  little,  he  smiled. 

"Kiss  me  quick — fast,"  Doro  commanded;  she 
rubbed  her  cheek  to  his.  "  Goodness — you  are  all 
prickly!  Is  that  bein'  abroad?  Do  you  grow  like 
that?  Tony,  I  can  ride;  I  did,  didn't  I,  G?  And, 
Tony,  I  can  speak  in  French  and  sing  it.  Oh,  I  love 
you — darlin',  dear." 

G  left  them  together,  her  heart,  jealous  for  Eex, 
contracting  with  bitterness.  As  she  went  she  heard 
Tony  laugh,  a  sort  of  dull  roar  .  .  .  but  no  one  else 
had  won  a  smile  from  him.  .  .  . 

And  soon  they  were  walking,  Doro  and  he,  to- 
gether in  the  park. 

Rex  came  up  to  G. 

"Fathers  are  strange  people,"  he  said,  rumina- 
tively.  "  Of  course,  I  do  not  remember  mine,  G,  but 
he  seems  very,  very  unfatherlike,  don't  you  think? 


110  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

'Course  Doro  knew  him  before,  that  makes  a 
difference." 

He  stood  watching  the  big  figure  and  the  little 
white-clad  one  casting  shadows  on  the  brilliant 
grass. 

"  It'll  be  odd  to  have  one  always  about  the  place," 
he  remarked  at  length,  speaking  of  a  father  much  as 
one  would  of  a  wheel-chair,  or  any  other  mechanical 
device,  and  suddenly  his  arms  went  round  G's  neck ; 
he  clung  to  her  with  the  passionate  abandonment  a 
child  can  feel  when  it  is  unhappy. 

"  We  never  liked  s'prises,  did  we? "  he  whis- 
pered; "you  always  said,  darlin',  they  were  a 
mistake." 


CHAPTEK  VII 

"  Oh,  grown-ups  cannot  understand, 
And  grown-ups  never  will, 
How  short's  the  way  to  fairyland 
Across  the  purple  hill.  .   .   . 
.  .  .  And  yet — at  just  a  child's  command — 
The  world's  an  Eden  still/  " 

ALFRED  NOYES. 

IN  his  own  rooms  memory  assailed  Tony.    The 
insidious  spell  of  the  house  which  had  roofed 
his  ancestors,  which  had  come  down  to  him  as  a 
heritage,  began  to  make  itself  evident ;  he  had  again 
that  old  satisfying  feeling  of  "  belonging "  some- 
where, the  feeling  which  will  call  a  man  from  happi- 
ness, riches,  the  farthest  place  on  earth.   Tony  had 
never  known  he  had  missed  his  house,  but  he  knew 
it  now. 

He  leant  far  out  of  the  window  in  his  bedroom, 
and  the  scent  of  the  earth  came  to  him  and  made 
him  draw  his  breath  sharply ;  the  ivy  rustled  in  the 
night  wind;  that  disembodied  feeling  which  it  is 
possible  to  experience  after  a  fresh  shock,  complete 
change  from  one  place  to  another,  possessed  him ; 
he  was  able  to  contrast,  as  if  he  passed  from  one 
land  to  the  other,  the  clearing  he  had  called  home  in 
Saiwunga,  and  this  real  home.  He  could  still  see  the 
grass  growing  like  spears,  glittering  in  the  blazing 

ill    * 


112  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

moonlight;  still  hear  the  jungle  cries,  faint,  mys- 
teriously eerie ;  here,  the  roses  blew  in  the  starshine, 
and  the  bells  chimed  over  the  fields. 

But  even  in  this  tranquillity  he  did  not  find  com- 
plete satisfaction ;  he  had  been  robbed  of  the  near- 
ness of  immediate  association,  and  as  one  can  feel 
an  illogical  regret  upon  saying  good-bye,  when  in 
reality  one  is  aware  one  will  experience  a  genuine 
relief  directly  the  actual  separation  has  taken  place, 
so  now  Tony  felt  almost  an  aggrieved  sense  of  for- 
lornness.  He  walked  about  the  room ;  there  was  a 
picture  of  Francesca  on  the  walls,  and  below  it  a 
portrait  of  Eex. 

He  stared  into  Francesca's  face. 

He  had  not  forgotten,  but  he  had  not,  during  the' 
last  year,  remembered  very  much. 

He  was  seven  years  older ;  he  found  himself  think. 
ing  how  pretty  she  had  been — "pretty  as  paint." 
.  .  .  His  mind  stirred  unhappily. 

What  was  the  good  of  remembering? 

Besides,  he  had  cultivated  a  knack  of  slamming 
down  a  little  door  in  his  mind  on  all  thoughts  that 
bothered.  He  slammed  it  now. 

If  one  did  not,  memories  of  loneliness  assailed 
one,  and  they  were  hideous. 

Even  with  the  door  slammed  ghosts  crept  some- 
times. 

He  stared  out  at  the  softly  shadowed  park,  above 
which  the  star-jewelled  sky  hung  like  a  benison. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  113 

He  would  take  on  the  farms,  run  the  place,  live 
for  it. 

During  the  voyage  home  he  had  planned  the 
future  that  way;  it  was  a  relief  to  find  he  could 
pursue  his  purpose. 

A  thought  of  Pasquale  drifted  across  his  mind: 
odd  that  he  still  felt  as  he  did  towards  him. 

Pan  did  not  fit,  that  was  it;  it  would  be  decent 
to  see  old  Charles  again  sometimes.  His  life  abroad 
seemed  to  have  loosed  him  from  all  sense  of  respon- 
sibility. 

Greville  said  of  him  to  G,  maliciously  smiling : 

"  As  an  example  of  a  broken  heart,  Tony  is  rather 
disillusioning,  what?" 

"  He  is  atrophied,"  G  returned  quickly.  "  It  is 
a  tragedy,  Pan,  but  I  fail  to  find  it  an  amusing  one." 

Her  whole  mind  was  absorbed  by  the  thought  of 
the  future,  Hex's  first,  then  Doro's,  for  she  had  a 
genuine  regard  for  her;  she  would  naturally  sug- 
gest her  own  departure  at  an  early  date,  and  the 
idea  -of  Hex,  dependent  on  Tony  for  every  interest, 
was  poignantly  distressing. 

All  through  the  summer  night  she  lay  awake  and 
worried.  With  the  morning  sleep  came,  and  hardly 
had  it  come,  it  seemed  to  poor  G,  than  Eex  arrived 
also. 

Eegularly,  each  morning,  he  accompanied  her  cup 
of  tea. 

To-day,  he  sat  with  bare  feet,  clad  in  his  pyjamas, 
and  "  poured  out." 


114  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  I  love  the  '  seentiness '  of  your  room,  darling," 
he  said  conversationally;  "it  smells  like  you  do, 
sandal-woody  and  bunches  of  flowers." 

He  climbed  down  and  limped  to  G's  dressing- 
table  and  gravely  sprayed  himself  from  an  atomizer 
containing  jasmine  perfume. 

"  I  like  you  looking  the  same  in  bed  as  up,  too," 
he  remarked.  "Emilia's  an  awful  hidjus-uggy  in 
bed." 

"Hidjus-uggy"  was  a  word  the  children  had 
made.  It  belonged  to  the  "  Mck  "  language  and  was 
entirely  understood. 

"  Keally,"  G  said  absently. 

"  Yes,  really ;  she  has  paper  hair  things,  but  you 
look  darlin'." 

"  You  flatter  me ! " 

"Well,  you  like  it,  my  love,  don't  you?"  Rex 
inquired  carelessly,  taking  a  spoon  carefully  round 
the  jam-dish. 

G  laughed  with  pleasure  in  him ;  he  was  so  sweet, 
and  queer,  and  natural. 

He  looked  up,  licking  the  spoon  enjoyabiy. 

"That's  better,"  he  said  a  little  inarticulately. 
"  I  love  you  laughin',  your  eyes  go  like  black  stars." 

"Ever  seen  a  black  star?"  G  asked,  pretending 
to  study  a  letter. 

"  No,  but  I  can  think  them." 

"  D'you  think  many  things  like  black  stars?  " 

"  'Bout  Doro  and  you  I  do.  Doro's  darlin'  to  look 
at,  too." 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  115 

"  My  friend,  you  begin  early !  " 

"  Early  what?  Can  I  have  that  bit  of  toast?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  you  will  spoil  your  own  breakfast." 

"  Yes;  but  it  isn't  toast  and  this  sort  of  jam,  so 
it  doesn't  matter." 

He  slid  forward  a  little  when  he  had  finished  the 
toast,  and  leant  his  head  back  on  G's  shoulder ;  the 
adorable  littleness  and  trust  of  him  swept  over  her 
in  a  wave  of  tenderness. 

"  What  made  you  choose  this  cherry-pie  coloured 
silky  thing?  "  he  asked,  pulling  the  fringe  of  G's 
dressing-jacket.  "  An'  have  a  bow  that  colour  in 
your  hair,  all  done  up?  " 

G  laughed  again. 

"  Darling,  I  am  old,  as  old  as  old,  but  just  the 
same  I  want  to  seem  as  nice  as  I  did  when  I  was 
very  young.  In  fact,  I  wish  more  earnest  than  I  did 
then,  to  seem  nice!  One  ought  to  .  .  .we  all 
ought.  Y'know,  Eex,  one's  body  is  a  temple  in  a 
way,  and  we  are  expected  to  keep  it  fair.  My  way 
of  keeping  mine  so  is  to  have  the  scents  you  love,  and 
cherry-pie  coloured  ribbons  and  so  on — as  a  decora- 
tion, d'you  see?  " 

Hex  stretched  luxuriously. 

"A  temple,"  he  echoed  meditatively,  wriggling 
his  toes,  and  studying  them.  "  G,  what  are  my 
decorations?  " 

G  considered  him :  stumped  again  by  the  devilish 
ingenuity  of  childhood  to  bowl  "  googlies  "  in  the 
question  line! 


116  ALMOND-BLOS'SOM 

"Well,  you  rather  liked  your  overcoat,"  she 
hazarded,  "and  that  tie  we  bought  in  Paris — the 
deep  blue  silk  one." 

A  bell  rang. 

Rex  sat  up  and  slid  an  arm  about  G's  neck. 

"  I  must  be  goin',  my  love,"  his  face  very  close  to 
hers ;  they  kissed,  and  he  leant  a  cheek  on  her  silver 
hair  close  to  the  lilac  bow. 

"  I  do  love  you,  G." 

"And  I  you." 

He  released  her  and  scrambled  free. 

"  That's  all  right  then.  I  guess  my  little  temple's 
going  to  be  scrubbed  now." 

G  laughed  at  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"I  guess  it  is.  Afterwards,  decorate  it  for  my 
sake,  with  the  white  flannel  suit  and  Paris  tie." 

"All  right,  darlin'."  He  went  off  at  a  limping 
run,  shouting  for  Emilia. 

Sweet  came  in  to  dress  G,  her  lugubrious  face 
gloomier  than  ever. 

"  There'll  be  sad  changes  now,  mam,"  she  re- 
marked with  relish. 

In  her  heart  she  was  intensely  sorry  for  her  mis- 
tress, but  Sweet's  nature  was  so  constituted  that 
any  sorrow  was  its  greatest  pleasure ;  just  as  certain 
people  really  only  enjoy  singing  burial  hymns  and 
would  rather  attend  a  funeral  than  a  matinee. 

To-day  she  thought  G  looked  her  age,  and  it  was 
not  often  she  did  that.  She  handed  a  lip-stick  to 
her  mistress  (G's  sole  "aid,"  with  the  exception  of 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  117 

the  bistre  shadows),  and  watched  with  sympathy 
for  once  whilst  it  was  applied.  Its  use  was  generally 
reserved  for  evenings,  so  Sweet  recognized  the 
portent. 

"Well  may  we  ask  ourselves,  mam,  what  the 
future  holds  now?,"  she  suggested. 

"Why?"  G  snapped. 

"'Is  lordship  back,  so  different,  so  strangely 
h'altered." 

"His  lordship  had  a  terrible  blow  in  her  lady- 
ship's death." 

"  There's  few  'as  memories  so  faithful,  mam.  It 
should  be  a  comfort  to  us  to  find  it." 

She  began  to  brush  G's  thick,  silver  hair,  punc- 
tuating the  even  strokes  of  the  brush  with  comments 
on  life  at  Hurstpoint  and  in  general. 

"  Plans  will  be  changed — life  do  seem  strange — 
a'most  like  a  sleeper  wakened — seven  years  gone. 
'Is  lordship's  fleshier,  mam — what,  I  ask  meself, 
'appens  now? — Wanderers  again " 

"  Sweet,  be  quick,"  G  ordered  with  asperity.  Pre- 
cisely the  same  question  Sweet  had  asked  had  been 
tormenting  her. 

What  was  to  happen  now? 

Would  Tony  ask  her  to  remain  as  chatelaine  of 
his  house?  Once  she  could  have  counted  on  his  con- 
sideration; now  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the 
meaning  of  the  word. 

She  must  broach  the  subject  that  morning ;  if  the 
worst  came  to  the  worst  Pointers  was  not  very  far  j 


118  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Eex  could  come  over  and  see  her  often.  But  she 
would  miss  him  in  the  morning,  and  at  evening  time 
— and  all  time,  she  confessed  wretchedly  to  herself. 

She  walked  into  the  dining-room  to  find  Tony 
seated  there  with  Doro :  Greville  breakfasted  in  his 
own  room. 

"  Tony  says  I  can  ride  to-day,"  Doro  burst  out, 
"  and  he'll  teach  me  to  drive  and  hunt.  T.G.,  you've 
come  home,  Tony  darling !  " 

After  breakfast,  when  Rex's  tutor,  the  vicar's 
boy,  down  for  long  vacation,  had  taken  him  off  with 
Doro,  G  approached  Tony  definitely. 

"  It  will  be  wiser  to  have  an  understanding,"  she 
said. 

Pan  had  already  "  given  notice  " ;  he  was  leaving 
for  town  that  day  en  route  for  "  Heaven  knows 
where — or  perhaps  not  Heaven !  " 

"  Very  probably  not,"  G  had  agreed  .drily. 

Tony  offered  no  comment,  made  no  suggestion; 
at  last,  dignified  in  her  driven  forlornness,  G  spoke 
of  returning  to  Pointers. 

"  I'll  take  you  over,"  Tony  said. 

She  looked  at  him  in  dumb  amazement ;  for  seven 
years — more  than  seven  years  actually — she  had 
sacrificed  her  entire  life  to  Tony's  interests,  Tony's 
children ;  it  is  true  that  his  agent  and  bailiffs  had 
managed  the  estate,  but  she  had  had  to  superintend 
their  activities. 

And  of  course  with  regard  to  Doro  and  Rex.  .  .  . 
She  remembered  that  evening  years  before,  whet 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  119 

Tony  had  come  to  Pointers  to  ask  her  help,  and  she 
had  found  him  so  boring  in  his  dull  absorption  of 
grief;  odd  that  then  she  had  not  realized  it  to  be 
merely  the  small  exercise  of  a  sir '11  mind. 

For  it  had  been  that:  Tony's  whole  life  had 
proved  it ;  he  had  not  suff  ered.by  reason  of  a  search- 
ing vision  which  had  been  his ;  he  had  suffered  with- 
out one,  and  thus  narrowed  down  his  feelings  to 
numbness — not  that  tragic  numbness  which  is  the 
result  of  an  anti-climax  of  anguish,  but  that  com- 
placent numbness  which  has  no  recollection,  no 
direct  spring  of  existence. 

She  met  Tony's  bovine  look  with  a  quick, 
"  Thanks.  I'll  tell  Sweet  to  pack.  I  can  leave  in 
time  for  tea,  I  think." 

She  went  in  search  of  Rex  later,  and  they  walked 
to  the  old  rose  garden,  and  G  sat  on  the  circular 
stone  seat,  warmed  through  and  through  by  the  sun- 
shine, whilst  Kex  settled  on  the  grass. 

"  I  go  back  to  Pointers  to-day,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  Why?  "  he  demanded  instantly. 

"  Your  father  will  look  after  yo  .  He  is  home, 
you  see,  and  that  arrangement  is  a  right  one." 

"  I  hate  it,"  Rex  said,  kneeling  up.  "  G,  don't 
you  hear,  I  hate  it." 

"  And  I,  too,"  she  longed  to  cry  to  him ;  instead 
she  said,  as  levelly  as  she  could : 

"  Pointers  is  quite  near." 

"  Pointers  isn't  breakfast  in  bed  and  good-night 
kissing,  and  all  the  while.  It's  all  the  while  that 


120  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

matters  so.  G,  oh  darling,  I  hate  it  so,  I  hate  it  so." 

"Darling,  don't,"  G  begged.  The  idea  of  sever- 
ance from  this  rare,  yet  never  very  distant,  lovely 
intimacy,  which  can  exist  when  a  child  loves  and 
has  a  tenderness  no  other  love  or  companionship 
can  possess,  made  her  feel  unutterably  tired  and 
old. 

She  consoled  Rex  with  a  description  of  future 
meetings. 

"  Father  is  not  what  I'd  choose  to  be  left  with," 
Rex  said  candidly. 

"  You  do  not  know  him  yet." 

"  No ;  but  I  think  about  him,  and  that's  what  I 
do  think." 

Doro  and  he  argued  together  in  their  sitting-room 
about  G's  departure. 

"  But  if  G's  going,  Tony's  come,  and  it  balances 
things,  don't  you  see?" 

Rex  faced  her  with  passionate  conviction. 

"  Nothing  balances  for  losing  someone  you  love 
tight" 

"  But  don't  you  love  Tony?  " 

"  No." 

"  But  he's  your  father." 

"  I  know,  but  it  doesn't  matter." 

Doro  drew  her  straight,  fine  eyebrows  together : 

"  But,  Rex,  it  ought  to." 

She  studied  Rex's  close-shut  mouth. 

"  I  love  him  like  anything,"  she  volunteered. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  121 

"You  had  room  to,  you  see,"  Rex  said  surpris- 
ingly, and  after  that  would  discuss  the  point  no 
more. 

They  all  drove  in  with  G  to  Pointers.  Bex  stayed 
behind  the  last  to  kiss  her  good-bye,  then  he  ran 
back,  as  quickly  as  he  could,  to  the  car. 

G  found  on  her  pillow  a  bunch  of  roses,  rather 
short  as  to  stem,  but  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  paper 
on  which  was  written,  "With  lodes  of  love  from 
your  adoring  Rex." 


CHAPTEK  VIII 

"II  arrive  souvent  que  des  choses  se  presentent  plus 
achevees  a  notre  esprit  qu'il  ne  les  pourroit  faire  avec 
beaucoup  fart." — LA  ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

BY  the  time  Doro  was  seventeen  Rexford  had 
transformed  Hurstpoint  into  a  place  where 
you  slept  and  ate  when  you  were  neither 
hunting,  shooting,  fishing,  nor  pursuing  any  other 
seasonable  sport.  He  had  been  helped  towards  this 
achievement  by  an  old  friend,  a  widower  who  (a 
second  resemblance  also)  lived  for  himself  and 
sport.  Foster  Pembroke  contributed  one  outside 
asset :  he  talked  well  and  he  had  read  widely.  Both 
Doro  and  Rex  liked  him  and  listened  to  him;  he 
taught  them  how  to  read  intelligently,  and  guided 
their  choice  in  books,  and  if  his  tastes  were  some- 
what catholic  and  contained  works  scarcely  suit- 
able to  his  admirer's  outlook  or  age,  neither  they 
nor  he  recognized  the  fact,  nor  were  they  likely  to 
do  so  in  a  house  where  men  ruled  and  the  only  femi- 
nine influence  was  that  of  a  kinswoman  whose  own 
outlook  was  that  of  a  more  naturally  robust  gen- 
eration than  her  own. 

Doro  and  Rex  were  educated  in  jerks:  when  a 
tutor  was  available,  when  Rex  was  fit  enough,  when 

122 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  123 

Doro  could  spare  time  from  hunting  or  racing,  or 
shooting. 

One  accomplishment  alone  was  hers,  and  G  had 
insisted  on  its  cultivation,  and  had  herself  arranged 
for  a  master  to  come  from  London  once  a  week: 
Doro  could  sing.  She  had  a  voice  which  promised 
glorious  things  and  a  curiously  eclectic  taste  in 
music. 

For  Tony  she  would  sing  any  song,  and  he  would 
sit  over  his  port,  his  red  face  intent,  encouraging  her 
hoarsely,  whilst  Foster  Pembroke  criticized  her 
rendering. 

Kex  and  G  received  the  benefit  of  her  own  taste — 
Spanish  songs,  songs  by  Grieg,  Lassen,  Chaminade ; 
it  was  before  the  days  of  Ravel,  Wolff,  Duparc. 

Cavini,  who  made  the  fatiguing  journey  to  Hurst- 
point  weekly,  enthused  wildly  to  G. 

"  It  is  a  Heaven-sent  voice — it  is  all  there,  you 
understand.  There  will  be  no  trouble.  Dio!  what 
a  loss  to  Opera !  What  a  crime,  a  sin,  to  make  no 
use  of  such  a  voice ! " 

G  did  not  argue  the  point.  Of  course  her  niece, 
even  if  she  was  so  only  by  adoption,  could  not  sing 
publicly :  it  was  one  of  those  quite  Bohemian  ideas 
which  were  amusing,  but  so  lacking  in  discernment. 

Rex  said  to  Doro : 

"  Would  you  like  to  sing  in  Opera?  " 

Doro,  cursing  over  the  fit  of  a  new  habit,  answered 
absently : 


124  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"Kather  fun,  don't  you  think?  Carmen,  for  in- 
stance, or  Mignon.  Drat  this  tailor — the  man's  a 
fool." 

"Tut,  tut!"  said  Rex. 

He  had  not  the  splendid  time  which  Doro  adored 
and  lived  for ;  he  was  often  "  not  very  fit  "  or  had 
a  breakdown;  he  loathed  being  ill,  and  was  in- 
tractable and  moody  until  he  felt  fit  again. 

His  father,  appearing  occasionally,  would  boom 
at  him:  "Easy  does  it,  eh?  But  you  mustn't  give 
in  too  quickly.  Got  to  keep  goin'  as  much  as  you 
can." 

Hex  would  reply :  "  Yes,  sir,"  wearily ;  he  realized 
his  father's  deficiency  of  mental  vision  and  felt  no 
resentment  for  his  criticism,  no  special  sentiment 
towards  him  at  all ;  they  agreed  because  they  never 
disagreed;  Tony  was  seldom  available  for  any 
friendly  overtures  had  Rex  wished  to  make  one ;  he 
was  generally  attended  by  Pembroke  and  one  or 
two  other  ardent  sportsmen;  he  drowsed  through 
the  days  at  home  when  he  had  to  be  there,  drinking 
heavily,  and  talking,  if  he  talked  at  all,  with  Doro. 

He  was  proud  of  her  and  fond  of  her;  he  gave 
her  everything  she  wanted,  and  only  asked  that  she 
should  share  his  love  of  sport;  at  seventeen  she 
knew  less  of  life  than  many  girls  of  thirteen,  more 
about  horses  and  dogs  than  a  man  of  thirty,  and 
was  a  slender,  beautiful,  straight  thing,  all  long 
lines,  reminiscent  rather  of  a  racer,  as  clean-limbed 
and  perfect  in  poise.  She  rode  superbly,  shot  like 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  125 

a  man,  swore  like  one,  and  could  jump  like  a  boy. 
If  she  had  cut  her  hair  she  might  have  passed  for 
a  boy,  with  her  slightly  tanned  long  hands  and 
length  of  slenderness. 

Rex  topped  her  by  a  couple  of  inches,  but  his  limp 
was  still  evident. 

He  was  too  thin,  but  he  had  breadth  of  shoulder, 
and  his  fair  hair  and  dark  eyes,  eyebrows,  and 
lashes,  gave  him  an  air  of  distinction;  he  looked 
different  from  the  average  boy,  and  was  immensely 
particular,  without  being  affected,  about  his  clothes, 
a  tendency  ardently  fostered  by  G,  who,  if  Tony 
spoilt  Doro,  evened  the  scale  by  spoiling  Rex. 

She  was  nearly  eighty,  but  was  still  a  dominant 
character.  Rex  adored  her ;  they  had  no  secrets  from 
one  another,  and  G  talked  with  him  quite  frankly ; 
neither  felt  that  the  difference  of  years  counted; 
their  minds  met  in  happiness,  and  G's  gift  of  love 
.to  Rex  gave  a  colour  and  worth  to  his  life  it  would 
never,  otherwise,  have  owned. 

Her  outlook  was  that  of  her  day,  the  day  when 
men  had  baulked  at  subtlety,  divided  women  into 
definite  classes,  considered  honour  a  natural  attri- 
bute and  not  a  distinction,  cultivated  the  narrowest 
views  and  largest  morals,  and  had  been  keen,  quite 
simple,  enjoyable,  and  sentimental. 

Rex,  by  intuition  and  choice,  insomuch  as  he 
could  make  choice  at  his  age,  was  a  modern  of  the 
moderns ;  but  G's  outlook  had  a  fascination  for  him, 
and  G's  manners  were  a  joy  to  him. 


126  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  had  distinct  views  on  responsibility  and  the 
dignity  of  life,  despite  his  youth.  He  argued  with 
Doro  often,  who  had  no  views,  or  rather  views  so 
scattered  that  to  attempt  to  catch  one  and  discuss 
it  was  rather  like  pursuing  flying  leaves  with  an 
egg-spoon.  She  was  a  Socialist  one  day,  a  rabid 
Conservative  the  next,  both  together  later,  and  so 
on  and  so  forth. 

"  It's  because  I'm  not,  I  suppose,"  she  said  firmly 
to  Hex,  "  and  you  are!  You  see,  I  haven't  any  obli- 
gations— social  ones,  I  mean ;  a  tent  doesn't  confer 
them,  whereas  a  turreted  house  and  a  house  in  St. 
James's — oh,  la  la !  " 

Her  origin  had  a  great  charm  for  both  Rex  and 
herself. 

"  We'll  go  to  Spain  one  day,"  she  said.  "  Tony 
shall  take  us." 

"  That  will,  indeed,  be  romantic,"  Rex  said  dryly. 

"  He  is,  he  can  be ;  deep  down  he's  different  to 
anything  you  think  of  him,"  Doro  protested.  "  I 
know — I  feel  it.  It's  because  I  love  him  and  you 
don't." 

"  Perhaps  it's  because  you  can  endow  people  you 
are  fond  of  with  all  the  qualities  you  admire,"  Rex 
suggested  in  an  elderly  way. 

"  Well,  if  I  do  it  makes  things  easier ! "  Doro 
laughed.  "  But " — she  grew  serious — "  I  am  right 
about  Tony." 

Rex  heeded  very  little  either  way;  he  was  in- 
dulging in  a  discussion  with  Doro  from  his  bed, 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  127 

whither  a  bad  toss  out  hunting  had  driven  him.  He 
had  sprained  himself  and  was  bored  and  out  of 
temper  with  his  world. 

Doro  had  come  in  to  have  tea  with  him,  and  was 
standing  beside  the  window ;  outside  a  dull  Novem- 
ber day  was  drawing  to  a.dismal  close ;  the  gorgeous 
fire  leaping  up  the  open  chimney  made  the  weather 
seem  even  gloomier. 

"  Ordered  crumpets? "  Hex  asked,  raising  a 
ruffled  head  from  his  pillow. 

"Yes.   Feelin'  better,  old  .boy?" 

"  No,  rotten." 

"  Damn  bad  luck !  That  wall  had  absolutely  no 
take-off.  Like  a  light?  " 

"  Not  just  yet." 

"Head  bad?" 

«  A  bit." 

Doro  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  on  the  bed 
and  laid  cool,  slim  fingers  on  Rex's  forehead. 

"Oh,  that's  jolly,"  he  said  with  a  little  sigh. 
"What  topping  scent  you've  got  on — what  is  it? " 

"  G  gave  it  to  me.  She  says  every  woman  ought 
to  appreciate  perfume,  and  use  it  with  perception." 

"I  appreciate  your  perception  this  afternoon, 
anyway,"  Rex  murmured.  "You're  like  jasmine 
flowers  at  night,  Doro." 

"  I  wish  I  said  those  sort  of  things — thought 
them,"  Doro  exclaimed.  "You  have  beautiful  words, 
Rex,  y'know.  I  suppose  it's  readin'  so  much,  partly." 


128  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  drop  your  '  g's/ "  Eex 
said  impatiently.  "  It's  awful — I  hate  it — cropping 
words  like  a  puppy's  tail !  It's  cruel  to  them !  " 

Doro  laughed,  her  fingers  slid  into  his  thick,  yel- 
low hair. 

"  But  don't,  I  do  hate  it !  "  Bex  protested.  "  I 
hate  beautiful  things  to  do  unbeautif ul  ones !  " 

"  D'you  think  I'm  really  beautiful?" 

"  Yes.    So  do  you." 

"  Sometimes  I  get  worried,"  Doro  said.  "  It's 
my  type — other  girls  are  different.  Daphne  Carew 
— that  gold  and  white  effect  of  hers — that's  lovely, 
if  you  like." 

"  Yes,  and  ordinary,  my  dear  kid ;  it's  the  unordi- 
nary  that  has  the  pull!  And  you — oh!  I  dunno, 
it's  your  eyes  being  so  green.  .  .  .  Awf'ly  few  people 
ever  have  really  green  eyes,  you  know.  You  read  of 
'em  and  hear  of  'em,  but  you  scarcely  ever  meet 
?em.  I  was  talking  with  G  about  it,  and  she  agreed. 

And  yours  are  green  as "  he  sought  for  a  simile ; 

"  they  are  like  the  sea  on  a  very  still,  hot  day.  You 
must  have  noticed  it  sometimes?  In  Cornwall,  I 
remember  thinking  of  your  eyes  when  I  was  stand- 
ing on  a  cliff  and  looking  down,  and  one  long  drift 
was  clearest,  sheerest  green,  with  the  sun  pouring 
through  it.  That's  your  eyes  in  some  lights,  and  in 
others  they're  like  jasmine  and  jasmine  leaves,  very 
dark  green  with  little  reflections  like  stars  in  them : 
jasmine  petals  in  their  leaves.  I  ought  to  have 
been  a  poet.  I  may  be  yet." 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  129 

They  laughed  together. 

"  D'you  want  to  write;  would  you  like  to?  "  Doro 
asked. 

"No,  not  really.  Eeally,  I  want  to  do  all  the 
things  you  do,  but  I  knock  up  so  quickly,  damn  it." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Doro  said  consolingly,  "  any- 
one would  be  laid  up  after  a  toss  like  the  one  you 
took  yesterday.  And  no  one  can  help  runnin'  into 
bad  luck  sometimes !  " 

Hex  looked  at  her,  they  both  laughed. 

"  Don't  you  see  chopping  off  your  '  g's '  is  so 
ugly?"  he  expostulated;  "all  abbreviations  are. 
You  take  a  perfectly  good  name  or  word  that's  never 
done  you  any  harm  and,  like  the  White  Queen,  you 
say:  'Off  with  their  heads!'  (only  it's  tails  this 
time ! ) .  I  like  Dolores  heaps  better  than  Doro,  but 
it's  too  late  to  alter  that;  but  some  abbreviations 
are  criminal.  Anyway,  they  all  give  me  a  lop-sided 
feeling." 

Doro  lit  a  cigarette  and  handed  it  to  him.  Tony 
had  never  interfered  with  his  son's  habits  in  any 
way ;  if  Rex  had  chosen  to  go  about  in  woad  or  taken 
cognac  for  breakfast,  it  is  doubtful,  firstly,  that  he 
would  have  noticed,  and  if  he  had,  that  he  would 
have  made  any  comment. 

Rex's  vices,  however,  were  negligible  so  far,  and 
his  smoking  had  certainly  not  retarded  his  growth ; 
he  was  fifteen,  and  nearly  six  feet  in  height. 

Propped  up  on  big  pillows  he  surveyed  his  room. 
The  firelight  flung  a  wide  glow  over  the  white- 


130  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

pannelled  walls.  Eex  had  collected  various  things 
he  loved  from  other  rooms,  and  had  chosen  with 
discernment.  He  had  a  dowry  chest  Jbeneath  one 
window,  and  a  travelling  box  on  one  side  of  the  fire- 
place which  had  belonged  to  an  Italian  lady  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  It  was  of  brass,  studded  thickly 
with  nails;  a  really  beautiful  thing. 

Boxing  prints  adorned  the  walls,  uncles  and 
great-uncles  and  other  relatives  figuring  amongst 
the  onlookers  in  several  cases.  Portraits  of  Tommy 
Burns,  Fitzsimmons,  and  Jem  Mace  hung  between. 

Rex's  bed  was  a  four-poster  with  the  hangings 
stripped  away  and  the  lovely  fluted  posts  left  shin- 
ing and  clear  cut. 

Through  the  open  windows  the  soft,  moist  air 
blew  in  and  mingled  with  the  scent  of  Tony's  really 
excellent  cigarettes. 

"  Ring  for  tea,"  Rex  suggested ;  "  it  must  be  get- 
ting pretty  late." 

He  propped  himself  higher;  he  had  on  a  rather 
gorgeous  jacket  of  Indian  workmanship  which 
Pembroke  had  given  him  from  his  "  stores."  Pem- 
broke was  sixty,  and  hale,  and  selfish,  and  strangely 
pleasant;  he  neglected  his  own  place  because  it 
offered  poor  sport. 

Often  he  gave  Doro  and  Rex  gifts,  Doro  a  brace- 
let, Rex  a  gun,  but  always  gifts  he  had  had  in  his 
possession  for  some  time. 

Rex  loved  his  Indian  coat ;  it  was  of  densely  blue 
satin,  embroidered  in  faded  golden  thread,  and  had 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  131 

queer  matrix  buttons.  His  face  looked  rather  white 
above  the  intense  colouring,  white  and  thin. 

Emilia  came  in,  followed  by  Bex's  man  carrying 
the  tea-tray. 

Emilia  had  not  changed  with  time;  she  had  re- 
mained stout,  bronze-faced,  white  of  tooth  and  jolly 
of  smile,  and  utterly  devoted  to  Doro. 

Bex  she  loved,  Doro  she  adored. 

She  exclaimed  at  once  now  over  her  "  little  Sefior- 
ita's  "  shoes,  and  knelt  down  to  change  them,  whilst 
Doro  extended  a  slender  foot,  balancing  herself  by 
holding  on  to  Kex's  hand. 

"You're  an  angel,  Nannie,"  she  said  with  the 
careless,  happy  acceptance  of  a  thoroughly  spoilt 
childhood.  "And  she's  to  have  tea  with  us,  isn't 
she,  Rex?  " 

"  Bather,"  Bex  agreed. 

Emilia  beamed  with  pleasure.  She  loved  having 
both  her  nurselings  under  her  charge  again,  how- 
ever unnecessary  her  care  now  might  be. 

Doro  sat  down  in  a  big  chair  and  gave  a  sigh  of 
content. 

"  Strong  as  death,  sweet  as  love — three  lumps  and 
lemon  too,  please,"  she  ordered  blithely,  "  and  the 
merest  hint  of  anchovy  paste  on  the  butteriest 
crumpet,  Querida,  and  I  think  I'll  do  for  a  bit !  " 

Between  mouthf uls  she  asked  Bex : 

"  Glad  you  haven't  to  dine  down?  " 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  second,  then  said: 


132  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Oh,  you  mean  because  Pan's  coming?  Not 
sorry ! " 

"  There's  a  hell  of  a  row  on,"  Doro  said  elegantly, 

"  Divorce  is  rotten,  anyway,"  Eex  declared 
aloofly. 

"  Tony's  furious  about  it  all." 

Eex  gave  a  little  chuckling  laugh. 

"I  suppose  he  said  two  sentences  and  gave  up? 
'  Damn  nuisance ! '  i  Pretty  mess.'  Or  didn't  he  get 
sufficiently  angry  to  inspire  him  to  such  lengthy 
eloquence?  " 

"  He  feels  things  awfully,  Rex,  you've  no  idea." 

"  A  mutual  resemblance  at  last  then.  He  hasn't 
many,  you'll  own !  " 

Doro  flushed  gorgeously. 

"  Being  able  to  talk  rather  cleverly  isn't  every- 
thing ;  lots  of  people  who  are  inarticulate  know  an 
awful  lot,  too." 

"  Two  up,"  Rex  agreed  placidly.  "  You  have  the 
honour ! " 

Tea  progressed  in  peace. 

"How  long's  Pan  staying?"  Rex  asked  irrele- 
vantly. 

"  I  don't  know  till  Tony's  seen  to  all  this  bother, 
settled  it." 

"That  shouldn't  take  long,"  Rex  commented 
blandly.  "  Father  will  ask  two  questions.  Pan  will 
answer  neither  directly,  and  there  remains  the  sub- 
ject of  allowance !  It'll  come  to  that,  I'm  certain." 

"What  really  happened?" 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  133 

"  Oh,  Pan  married  this  girl  and  then  tired  of  her, 
and  there  was  a  duel  or  something,  and  he's  been 
booted  out  of  the  Diplomatic,  and  he's  sans  income, 
job,  and,  I  bet,  temper !  " 

"  You  do  hate  Pan,  don't  you?  "  Doro  asked  idly. 

Kex  stirred  restlessly.  That  reserve  which  cloaks 
any  deep  feeling  was  his  to  an  intense  degree. 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  said ;  "  it  would  be  childish 
now." 

"  And  of  course  we're  very  grown  up  now !  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  awf 'ly  old  for  my  age,"  Kex  stated  gaily. 

Light  flooded  the  room  as  G  entered.  G  with  a 
stick,  but  no  other  evidence  of  submission  to  the 
years'  sovereignty. 

Rex  struggled  up  in  bed,  his  face  flushing  with 
delight. 

"  Darling,  how  sweet  of  you  to  come  over ! "  he 
said  eagerly.  "I  say,  this  is  a  beano !  Emilia,  ring 
for  China  tea,  and  macaroons ;  and,  Doro,  be  a  sport 
and  fetch  those  tall  roses  from  the  study.  G  will 
love  to  look  at  them." 

G  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  Crocked  again?  " 

He  nodded,  smiling. 

"  But  worth  while,  after  all,  since  it  brings  you 
to  see  me !  I  say,  Pan  arrives  to-night." 

"  Bad  business,"  G  commented  briefly. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Eex  agreed  soberly.  "  G,  is  it 
very  bad?" 


134  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Yes,  quite.  Unforgivably  so,  according  to  our 
standards." 

Doro  came  back  with  the  roses. 

"  Look,  aren't  they  adorable?  "  she  asked. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  beneath  a  hanging  light 
arranging  them,  and  the  soft  glow  flung  delicate 
and  beautiful  shadows  over  her  face,  as  she  slightly 
moved  her  head.  She  gave  an  extraordinary  im- 
pression of  goldenness  and  rose-colour  standing 
there,  her  hair  shone,  the  translucent  greenness  of 
her  eyes  as  she  smiled  at  Kex  and  G  seemed  like  a 
happy  radiance. 

"  Very  effective,  my  dear,"  G  said  as  she  put  the 
roses  down. 

Rex  gave  a  low  whistle  under  his  breath.  His 
gaze  met  G's. 

"  I  thought  so,  too,"  she  told  him,  smiling. 

"Isn't  it  queer,"  he  asked  a  little  breathlessly, 
"  the  way  you  seem  suddenly  to  notice  things?  " 

G  studied  him  as  he  looked  again  at  Doro,  who 
was  seated  on  the  rug  before  the  fire  feeding  herself 
and  Nick's  grandson,  a  young  gentleman  of  some 
eight  months,  with  bits  of  crumpet,  on  which, 
according  to  minute  instructions,  the  merest  "hint" 
of  anchovy  paste  had  been  duly  spread. 

Doro  was  wearing  a  shooting-skirt  and  silk  shirt 
with  a  severe  black  tie.  Her  hair  was  plaited  in  one 
thick  plait  and  tied  with  a  bow  equally  severe,  and 
she  had  on  heather  stockings.  Her  clothes  certainly 
were  not  very  decorative,  and  yet,  sitting  there,  the 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  135 

flames  patterning  her  in  gold  and  scarlet,  she  gave 
an  impression  of  youth,  and  sweetness,  and  coolness, 
and  fragrance. 

Really,  her  hair  was  "  up  " ;  this  stirring  event 
had  taken  place  on  her  last  birthday,  and  in  the 
evenings  Emilia,  who  had  toiled  to  London  to  learn 
the  way,  dressed  it  delightfully. 

"  I'll  have  to  love  and  leave  you,  my  dears,"  she 
said  now,  looking  up  from  rolling  young  Nick's  ears 
over  her  little  finger.  "  Tony  told  me  to  be  down 
early.  I'll  come  in  when  I'm  ready,  though.  I've 
the  rippingest  new  kit.  I  got  it  at  Callots,  all  white 
and  silver,  young,  but  not  too  young,  if  you  take  my 
meaning,  as  Pembroke  says,  and  it  has  distinction ! 
Don't  you  believe  it!  Good-bye  again." 

As  the  door  closed,  Hex  said : 

"  G,  wasn't  it  odd,  the  way  we  both  thought  so, 
at  the  same  minute?  " 

G  had  known  he  would  go  back  to  that  instant's 
revelation.  She  said  quietly : 

"  Telepathy,  or,  more  probably,  a  similar  taste 
for  beauty !  Of  course,  Doro  has  it.  We  have  always 
been  agreed  on  that  point." 

Rex  lay  back  and  thought. 

"  D'you  know,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  to-day,  some- 
times— I  can't  think  why — it  seemed  different,  not 
newer,  but  different,  stronger?  " 

"  It's  Doro's  doing !  "  G  suggested  lightly. 

"I  suppose  so." 


136  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

G  looked  down  at  his  absorbed  face.  He  was 
gazing  intently  at  the  fire ;  his  profile  was  towards 
her,  a  rather  thin,  rather  ascetic  profile,  very  clear 
cut,  fine  of  line,  a  firm  chin  and  resolute  mouth, 
the  lips  close  pressed.  Anxious  love  stirred  in  her 
heart,  roused  in  some  measure  by  the  surprised 
happiness  which  had  shown  in  Rex's  eyes  when  he 
had  looked  at  Doro. 

Of  course  he  was  only  a  boy,  she  a  girl. 

But  the  mere  thought  that  he  might  be  unhappy 
hurt  her. 

But,  heavens!  How  far-fetched  a  thought,  how 
very,  very  problematical! 


CHAPTEE  IX 

"  Let  this  be  said  between  us  here, 

One  love  grows  green  when  one  turns  grey: 
This  year  knows  nothing  of  last  year; 
To-morrow  has  no  more  to  say 
To  yesterday." 

SWINBURNE. 

DORO  walked  downstairs  slowly.  She  was 
early,  and  her  shoes,  of  frail  brocade,  scarlet- 
heeled,  were  extremely  new  and  very  high. 

From  the  hall,  half  hidden  beneath  the  shade  of 
a  dim,  torn  banner,  Pasquale  Greville  watched  her. 

Her  loveliness  swept  like  a  summer  wind  across 
his  close,  jaded  mind. 

Doro  stopped  on  the  stairs  and  adjusted  a  flounce, 
and  Greville  thought  her  skin  was  whiter  than  her 
soft  white  dress;  she  looked  all  whiteness,  un- 
touchedness. 

He  went  forward  and  stood  directly  under  a 
light ;  he  had  done  it  before  and  knew  the  value  of 
a  first  decorative  impression. 

He  obtained  it.  Real  beauty  is  so  rare,  it  must 
be  recognized  at  once;  it  is  impossible  to  ignore  it. 

Doro,  a  being  alive  to  the  end  of  every  shining 
strand  of  her  hair,  acknowledged  its  presence  with 
delight ;  G's  influence,  Rex's  outlook,  her  own  choice 
of  view,  all  swayed  her  now  in  her  admiration. 

137 


138  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

She  enjoyed  looking  at  Greville,  and  was  aware 
she  did. 

Then  he  spoke,  and  she  laughed  and  coloured, 
and  said: 

"  Pan ! " 

Greville  caught  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Doro ! " 

The  loosening  of  their  hands  took  a  little  while, 
and  Greville  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  then  he 
said: 

"  Grown  up,  altogether  new !  " 

"  Oh,  not  altogether,"  Doro  said  rather  shyly. 

"Well,"  he  made  a  quick  gesture  with  his  fine 
tanned  hands,  "  what  is  one  to  say  then?  I  remem- 
ber an  Alice  in  Wonderland  and  find — Aphrodite." 

"  Both  begin  with  an  '  A,'  "  Doro  owned  demurely. 
"  That's  a  resemblance,  anyway." 

Greville  laughed  mechanically ;  he  was  swept  off 
his  feet  utterly  by  her  beauty  and  youth ;  he  had  an 
extraordinary  sense  of  well-being  suddenly ;  the  old 
discontent,  boredness  with  life,  which  had  encom- 
passed him  about  during  the  last  years,  seemed  sud- 
denly to  have  been  dispelled ;  he  knew  the  sensation 
well,  but  he  had  not  experienced  it  of  late. 

Doro  was  studying  him;  he  felt  it,  and  was  de- 
lighted in  his  turn. 

Actually,  she  was  thinking  how  strange  it  was  to 
see  a  beautiful  man,  and  yet  no  other  word  could  be 
used  to  describe  Greville  accurately.  He  had  fault- 
less form  of  head  and  features ;  odd,  yet  attractive, 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  139 

darkly-golden  hazel  eyes,  and  nearly  black  hair;  a 
skin  of  fine  texture,  faintly  tanned,  and  a  singularly 
charming  smile. 

He  was  very  tall  and  had  the  sportsman's  figure : 
flat,  broad  of  shoulder,  which  gives  an  expression  of 
strength  and  grace.  To  Doro's  relief  he  was  ex- 
tremely well  turned  out.  Tony  was  rather  a  grief  to 
her  in  that  respect,  Pembroke  also,  and  Rex  did  not 
count  very  much;  Greville  did,  and  she  liked 
his  sapphire  waistcoat-buttons  and  links,  which 
matched. 

And,  too,  there  was  about  him  the  undeniable 
glamour  of  a  wrong  romance.  Doro  was  rather  in 
doubt  as  to  why  people  were  divorced,  but  there 
clung  to  Greville,  undoubtedly,  the  suggestion  of  an 
unhappy  love,  which  never  fails  to  invest  the  man 
or  woman  with  interest :  of  what  nature  depends  on 
the  person  by  whom  it  is  felt. 

Doro's,  of  course,  was  sheerly  sentimental,  and, 
it  must  be  owned,  Greville  was  the  easiest  person 
possible  for  whom  to  feel  sentiment  in  any  form. 
Women  had  always  adored  him  and  spoilt  him ;  he 
knew  to  an  eyelash  the  value  of  his  looks. 

He  had  looked  forward  to  this  visit  with  great 
distaste;  only  the  fact  that  he  had  to  have  money 
and  that  only  Tony  would  give  it  to  him  had  forced 
him  to  undertake  it. 

His  marriage,  which  had  taken  place  ten  years 
earlier,  had  been  an  unqualified  failure.  His  poor 
little  Italian  Marchesa  had  suffered  too  cruelly  in 


140  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

comparison,  and  Greville  had  not  cared  who  had 
known  it;  he  had  married  her  because  he  had  been 
forced  to  do  so,  or  leave  the  Diplomatic.  Now,  in 
the  end,  he  had  to  leave  it,  and  because  of  her,  and, 
though  he  had  no  least  affection  for  it  really,  he 
resented  having  to  give  up  anything  without  his  own 
volition. 

Still,  it  was  an  infinite  relief  to  be  rid  of  Bianca, 
whom  once  he  had  likened  to  Primavera,  to  Semi- 
ramis,  to  Bice — but  not  to  Aphrodite;  he  had  sup- 
plied the  godlike  looks  in  that  family  a  deux. 

He  greeted  Tony  and  Pembroke  urbanely,  and 
continued  to  stare  at  Doro. 

They  dined  in  the  big  dining-room;  Tony  chose 
to  maintain  a  certain  state,  and  Greville  thought 
the  formal  service,  the  silver  plate,  the  dark  table 
with  its  purple  and  white  orchids  set  in  feathery, 
vivid  green,  a  fit  setting  for  Doro. 

She  sat  at  one  end  facing  Tony,  and  the  panelling 
of  the  walls  was  a  beautiful  background  for  her 
whiteness. 

Greville  found  himself  thinking  of  her  eyes;  he 
had  quite  forgotten,  with  regard  to  colour,  that  she 
had  eyes ! 

And  behold!  they  were  the  n111  marvel:  really 
green  eyes,  set  below  pencil-line  black  eyebrows. 

"  Really  green !  "  he  kept  telling  himself,  recover- 
ing from  his  amazement  with  difficulty. 

He  recalled,  whilst  apparently  listening  to  some 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  141 

hunting  story  of  Pembroke's,  various  verses  which 
were  applicable  to  Doro's  green  eyes. 

Hadn't  Baudelaire  spoken  of  "  yeux  verddtres — 
sorcidre  aux  yeux  allechants?  " 

At  any  rate,  some  poet  had,  and  some  day  he 
would  read  the  poem  to  Doro. 

How  old  was  she,  seventeen,  eighteen? 

Old  enough ! 

Doro  rose. 

"  Better  stay  and  drink  with  us,"  Tony  suggested. 

To  Greville's  surprise  she  stayed,  but  she  drank 
very  little,  and  only  twisted  the  glass  of  port  round 
before  a  candle  placed  near  her,  watching  its  rubies 
reflect  on  her  hand. 

"  Goin'  to  sing?  "  Tony  suggested  in  the  drawing- 
room. 
•  "  Do  you  sing?  "  Greville  asked. 

"  She's  trainin'  under  Cavini,"  Tony  threw  out 
contemptuously. 

Greville  opened  wide  eyes  for  an  instant :  Cavini 
was  a  maestro;  it  was  an  honour  to  be  taught  by 
him. 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  Doro  said,  seated  at  the  ebony 
piano.  "  Darling,"  to  Tony,  "  what  will  you  have?  " 

"Any thin',  anything"  Tony  said  lethargically; 
"  please  yourself." 

To  Greville's  amazement  she  began  the  opening 
bars  of  Grieg's  "  Time  and  all  Eternity,"  and  when 
she  sang  it,  her  eyes,  half  unconsciously  resting  on 
Greville's  face,  his  looked  into  hers  with  every 


142  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

consciousness.  For  years,  since  his  youth,  he  had 
not  felt  as  he  now  felt ;  he  realized  he  was  actually 
trembling,  a  mist  seemed  to  rise  before  him,  and 
through  it  Doro  sang  on,  superbly,  gorgeously, 
without  any  effort,  with  the  heavenly  clearness  and 
lack  of  emotion  a  boy's  perfect  voice  holds. 

"  My  God !  "  Greville  said  to  himself,  "  when  she 
feels — and  sings  as  she  feels  .  .  .  ! " 

The  song  was  finished ;  he  heard  Pembroke  make 
some  remark,  Doro  answered  it ;  then  she  began  to 
sing  again,  a  little  song  in  French,  an  absurd  little 
song  all  about  a  "  belle  marquise  "  called  Fifinella ; 
she  finished  the  song,  laughed,  and  rose. 

"  There ! " 

"  Very  nice,  my  dear,"  Tony  said.  "  That's 
Cavini,  Pan." 

"And  a  very  lovely  voice,"  Greville  answered 
coolly. 

He  turned  abruptly  to  Doro. 

"  D'you  like  singing?  " 

"  I  adore  it." 

"  And  riding  too,  still?  " 

She  laughed. 

"  You  have  a  wonderful  memory,  PanJ  " 

"  Not  in  some  cases,"  he  answered,  his  golden  eyes 
darkening  as  he  looked  at  her ;  "  in  some  cases  one 
cannot  forget." 

A  sudden  delicate  confusion  robbed  Doro  of  the 
power  to  reply. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  143 

She  had  a  strange  sense  of  being  cut  off  in  some 
way  from  Tony  and  Pembroke,  of  talking  in  another 
atmosphere — a  keener,  more  vivid  one,  with  Greville. 

He  disturbed  her  thoughts  oddly  and  made  her 
feel,  paradoxically,  at  once  older  in  some  ways  and 
much  younger  in  others. 

He  lit  a  cigarette  now,  and  with  the  match  cupped 
in  his  hand,  a  little  flame  of  hard  light  illuminating 
his  face,  and  making  his  eyes  shine  brilliantly, 
asked  in  a  low  voice: 

"  Why  did  you  flush,  Aphrodite?  " 

"Did  I?"  Doro  asked. 

"Yes,  most  adorably.  There  must  have  been  a 
reason." 

Doro  lifted  grave  eyes  to  his. 

"  I  think  I  felt  shy,"  she  said ;  "  you  see,  it  is  such 
a  long  while  since  you  were  here " 

"  And  now  I  seem  different,  and  you  also? " 
Greville  supplemented  quickly.  "And  the  differ- 
ence is  rather  bewildering,  is  that  it?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Doro  murmured. 

Tony  called  to  her;  she  went  across  to  him. 

"What  are  you  and  Pan  muttering  about?"  he 
asked. 

"  Differences  in  life,"  Greville  said  blandly. 

"  You  should  be  able  to  argue  on  that,"  Tony  con- 
ceded with  bluff  sarcasm.  He  jerked  his  head  at 
Doro: 

"  Time  you  were  in  bed,  my  dear." 


144  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Greville  opened  the  door  for  her  and  followed  her 
to  the  foot  of  the  wide,  shallow  stairs.  He  took  her 
hand. 

"  Sleep  well,  Aphrodite !  Grow  used  to  the  dif- 
ference! I  want  you — "  his  cool  grasp  tightened 
suddenly,  "  I  want  you  to  grow  very  used  to  me." 

He  waited  until  she  reached  the  landing,  and 
Doro  had  a  last  impression  of  him,  dark  head  back- 
flung,  his  eyes  smiling  her  "  good  night." 

She  paused  at  Rex's  door,  then  knocked  and  went 
in. 

"  Had  a  thin  time?  "  Rex  asked  sympathetically. 
"  I  heard  you  singing  and  loved  it.  What's  Pan  like 
now ;  same  as  ever,  I  expect?  " 

Doro  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  and  Rex 
repeated  the  question  a  little  differently: 

"  Was  Pan  pretty  sickening?  I  suppose  so. 
Languidly  clever,  and  unostentatiously  indifferent 
to. us,  eh?" 

"He  was  quite  all  right,  I  think,"  Doro  said 
constrainedly. 

"Tired?" 

"  Yes,  a  little ;  it's  been  rather  a  stiff  day." 

Rex  sighed  and  drew  a  book  from  his  table. 

"  Better  cut  along  to  bed.  Good  night." 

"  Good  night." 

In  her  own  room,  with  Emilia  undressing  her,  all 
her  own  "  little  "  comfort  of  atmosphere  about  her 
again,  she  felt  less  weary,  the  sense  of  tautness 
seemed  to  have  left  her;  it  had  been,  this  evening 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  145 

downstairs,  rather  like  a  lesson  of  some  sort,  an 
ordeal  in  some  way. 

When  Emilia  had  gone  she  slipped  into  a  thick, 
white  silk  dressing-gown,  banked  herself  with  big 
cushions,  and  went  to  sit  in  the  window-seat  before 
the  open  lattice  window. 

The  night  was  so  mild  it  suggested  spring ;  there 
was  in  the  air  that  hesitant  little  breeze,  the 
fragrance  of  wet  moss. 

A  wood  fire,  now  only  a  glow,  cut  by  an  occasional 
spear  of  blue  flame,  lit  the  room  faintly.  Doro 
gazed  out  into  the  night;  a  restlessness  possessed 
her,  and  she  discovered  again  and  again  that  her 
thoughts  were  of  Pan.  .  .  .  Men's  looks  had  never 
seemed  to  matter  before — men,  anyway,  had  not. 
Men  had  always  been  Rex's  friends :  Richard  Cole- 
fax,  the  Carew  boys,  the  Dorringtons.  .  .  . 

Perhaps  it  was  because  Pan  was  older  that  he 
seemed  to  count  more? 

He  had  lived  so  much — and  the  others — the  others 
had  always  been  just  where  they  were,  what  they 
were. 

She  would  discuss  Pan  with  G.  .  .  .  No,  she 
would  not — quite  distinctly  she  realized  she  would 
not  do  that;  her  motive  was  obscure,  but  it  was 
definite. 

It  had  not  been  easy  to  say  anything  about  him 
to  Rex  even. 

Why? 

She  drew  her  delicate  brows  together ;  her  whole 


146  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

mind  felt  tense  with  perplexity,  which  yet  had  an 
element  of  happiness  in  it. 

It  was  so  strange  that  the  meeting  itself  and  the 
fact  of  its  occurrence  impressed  her  so — and  made 
her  feel  she  could  not  sleep ! 

The  vision  of  Pan,  standing  beneath  the  light, 
came  to  her  again,  and  then  again  the  thought  re- 
turned, so  inevitably  attractive  to  youth,  of  the 
mystery  in  his  life. 

What  had  really  happened  about  his  marriage; 
how  unhappy  had  he  been? 

She  felt  sure  he  had  not  been  the  first  to  whom 
blame  could  be  attached,  anyway. 

A  guard  of  defence  for  him  leapt  to  instant  being 
in  her  thoughts. 

Had  he  been  very  unhappy?  Had  he  loved  Bianca 
very  deeply? 

For  years  Pan  had  been  merely  a  name.  He  had 
been  in  Berlin,  in  Bucharest,  in  Paris  often ;  he  had 
married  an  Italian  girl,  he  had  left  her,  he  was  re- 
turning to  England. 

That  had  been  all,  and  Doro  had  listened  very 
vaguely. 

Now  he  had  come  into  her  life,  an  entirely  new 
being,  and  thereby  had  accrued  to  him  the  weight  of 
much  novelty,  the  benefit  of  forming  her  im- 
pressions. 

Doro  went  to  her  dressing-table  for  a  handker- 
chief. Her  own  reflection  caught  her  gaze  in  the 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  147 

oval  mirror.    She  studied  herself  with  a  new  ab- 
sorbed interest. 

Was  she  beautiful — really — honestly? 

Her  mind  still  practised  the  childish  formula— 
honestly? 

She  gave  a  little  shy  smile  at  her  own  reflection, 
and  her  eyes  smiled  back  at  her.  Rex  had  said  they 
were  like  jasmine  flowers  and  leaves.  She  leant 
forward,  and  the  light  from  the  electric  candles  lit 
a  little  star  in  the  deep  greenness.  Were  green  eyes 
so  wonderful? 

She  hoped  so,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

Just  now  they  had  shadows  of  weariness  under 
them,  leaf  shadows  on  the  magnolia  petal  of  her 
skin. 

She  threw  up  both  slender  white  arms  and  sighed 
again. 

It  was  a  good  world,  a  world  full  of  sport  and 
general  splendidness — but — somehow 

She  switched  off  the  lights,  and  slipped  into  bed. 
Anyway,  to-morrow  was  near,  and  that  was,  for 
some  secret  reason  her  heart  would  not  quite 
acknowledge,  rather  wonderful. 

A  last  memory  of  Pan  came  to  her,  and  she  won- 
dered if  he  were  asleep,  and  wondering,  slept  herself. 

At  that  instant  Greville  was  lighting  a  last  ciga- 
rette as  he  stood  before  the  fire  in  his  room.  It  was 
his  own  old  room  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  was 
always  prepared  for  him  when  he  visited  Hurst 
point. 


148  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

To-night  he  thought  of  the  last  time  he  had  slept 
there,  years  before. 

It  was  not  a  very  pleasing  reflection,  so  much  had 
happened  since  then,  so  much  which  had  been  un- 
comfortable and  disturbing,  and  the  "  before  time  " 
of  memory  should  be  of  the  sun-dial  type,  which 
only  counts  the  happy  hours!  Greville  stirred  the 
fire  with  a  slippered  foot,  frowning  a  little,  and  the 
flames  leapt  up  gaily.  Reflection  concerning  the  last 
decade  of  his  life  made  him  think  with  ironical 
amusement  of  a  certain  popular  song,  with  its  sug- 
gestion of  a  varied  affection  for  fair  ladies  as  dif- 
ferent. .  .  .  Farkoa  had  sung  it,  or  someone  else; 
it  really  did  not  matter,  but  its  subject  was 
familiar ! 

Forty! 

He  met  the  thought  with  a  quick  squaring  of  the 
shoulders  and  a  little  covert  smile — forty,  and  free 
to  enter  the  lists  again !  By  God,  he  would  be  care- 
ful this  time;  this  separation  had  cost  him  the 
remainder  of  his  income.  It  was  an  unpleasing 
thought,  but  he  was  not  unduly  distressed  by  it. 
Kexford  was  an  extremely  wealthy  man,  and  he 
would  give  him  a  reasonable  allowance,  Greville 
felt  convinced,  if  only  because  of  his  abhorrence  of 
any  family  scandal. 

Eexford  could  leave  his  money  as  he  liked,  pretty 
well,  too. 

Already  Greville  had  sensed  to  whom  Tony  gave 
affection. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  149 

i 

It  was  not  amazing ! 

God,  what  absolute  sheer  beauty  Doro  had!  A 
winner  beyond  question. 

Extraordinary  combination  of  colouring,  that  bur- 
nished sort  of  hair,  and  that  white  skin,  and  such 
eyes — and  with  it  all,  utterly  young,  utterly  im- 
pressionable. 

He  smiled  a  little  now  as  he  remembered  Doro's 
"  shy  "  flush,  her  delightful  confusion  when  he  had 
asked  its  reason. 

What  a  heavenly  task  to  rouse  Selene,  to  watch 
the  adorable  growth  of  consciousness,  to  note  the 
birth  of  response  to  an  emotional  influence — it 
would  be  like  studying  a  bud  opening  its  petals 
slowly,  slowly,  utterly  delightful  in  its  unconscious 
surrender.  .  .  .  The  thought  burnt  like  a  swift  fire 
in  his  brain  for  a  moment. 

After  all,  why  not? 

But  he  would  have  to  go  slowly.  Doro's  upbring- 
ing had  held  no  hothouse  element  apparently !  Any- 
thing but,  he  was  forced  to  conclude  upon  reflection. 

But  if  not,  there  was  her  voice  to  explain :  that 
voice  which  held  within  its  note  the  promise  of  a 
passionate  heart.  ...  A  voice  like  that,  allied  to 
such  youngness  and  loveliness ! 

What  a  land  of  amazing  promise  and  mystery 
for  an  explorer,  what  heavenly  labour  to  wake 
sleeping  emotion,  to  give  colour  to  that  voice ! 

He  caught  his  breath  sharply;  it  had  been  so 
long,  owing  to  the  tedious  exigencies  of  the  hour, 


150  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

since  he  had  experienced  a  love  affair.  And  to  find 
one  here,  at  Hurstpoint,  of  all  places ! 

He  drew  on  his  cigarette  until  it  flamed  deeply. 

If  it  might  not  be  an  affair  of  moment,  Doro's 
presence  would  make  his  stay  a  very  different  event 
from  that  he  had  been  prepared  to  endure. 

At  any  rate,  even  if  nothing  matured,  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  wile  away  the  days  with  Doro,  instead 
of  being  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Tony.  Gad, 
what  a  boor — and  bore ! 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  He,  too,  meant  to  hunt 
the  following  day.  His  glance  caught  the  sharp 
colour  of  his  pink  coat,  which  his  man  had  laid  out 
for  him.  Time  to  turn  in  if  he  meant  to  turn  out  in 
decent  time. 

As  it  was  he  overslept,  and  ran  downstairs, 
gulped  some  scalding  tea,  and  was  barely  able  to 
catch  Doro  up  at  the  house  field. 

He  hallooed  to  her  gaily ;  the  sun  was  just  break- 
ing through ;  he  felt  admirably  fit,  and  he  was  quite 
aware  he  looked  it;  and  certainly  Doro  looked  a 
great  deal  more  than  merely  fit ! 

She  was  riding  near  Tony,  who  greeted  Pan  with 
a  jerk  of  his  head. 

Pan  edged  close  to  Doro.  A  fine  little  smile  had 
curved  his  lips  for  an  instant  after  he  had  met  her 
glance. 

It  was  such  a  shy  little  glance — shy,  and  admir- 
ing, and  happy. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  151 

He  felt  suddenly  extraordinarily  gay,  at  one  with 
the  keenness  of  the  day,  the  joy  of  sport,  all  the 
elan  of  the  hour. 

A  soft  big  wind  blew  the  sodden  leaves  about,  the 
sky  hung  low,  its  pale  blueness  shielded  by  banks 
of  dove-coloured  clouds;  every  single  detail  of  the 
landscape  seemed  to  stand  out  as  if  it  had  been 
etched;  the  lovely  bareness  of  the  trees  as  they 
reared  themselves  back  from  the  caresses  of  the  blus- 
tering wind  was  cut  against  the  delicate  sky  in 
straight,  graceful  lines,  a  witchery  of  myriad-pat- 
terned lace-woven  branches. 

"  Oh,  it's  good,  it's  divine  to  be  alive  and  riding, 
and  so  happy,"  Doro's  heart  sang  to  her;  all  her 
youth  tingled  with  the  sheer  joy  of  living  this  soft, 
clean  day. 

Last  night  seemed  far  away,  and  yet  still  won 
derful. 

Tony,  riding  behind  her,  urging  forward,  caught 
a  glimpse  of  her  rapt  face,  its  colour  whipped  to 
keenest  shell-pink,  and  unconsciously  his  hard 
mouth  softened. 

All  his  obstinate  pride  centred  in  Doro.  It  was 
a  secret  pride,  and  because  of  that,  more  strong. 

Hex  had  never  managed  to  matter  much ;  the  lad 
was  always  ailing,  and  when  he  was  fit  he  was  so 
damn  silent,  kept  himself  to  himself,  and  the  old 
grudge  had  never  died,  never  would  die  .  .  .  but 
Doro  ... 

Occasionally  Tony  thought  plans  for  her,  very 


152  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

rarely;  he  was  content  to  accept  the  good  moment, 
and  Doro  was  so  young. 

He  said  huskily  to  Pembroke,  who  was  passing 
him: 

"All  right,  eh?"  his  bloodshot  eyes  on  Doro. 

Pembroke  shared  his  admiration,  whilst  reserv- 
ing an  appreciation  of  Rex. 

He  nodded  now  and  said  bluffly: 

"  A  winner,  Tony,  a  winner,  hands  down." 

Pan  cut  out  of  the  field  and  bore  down;  both 
men  watched  him ;  Tony's  face  lowered. 

He  rode  straight  to  Doro  and  they  raced  ahead 
together. 

Pembroke,  removing  his  shrewd  eyes  from  Tony, 
wheeled  away  swiftly. 


CHAPTER  X 

"I  put  my  soul  into  your  eyes; 
I  looked,  I  saw,  and  did  not  see 
My  own  soul  looking  back  at  me." 

ARTHUR  SYMONS. 

"  Only  thoughts  of  you  remain 
In  my  heart  where  they  have  lain. 
Perfumed  thoughts  of  you,  remaining 
A  tired  sweetness  in  my  brain. 
Others  leave  me:  all  things  leave  me, 
You  remain." 

FEW  people  have  the  gift  of  withdrawal  when 
they  desire  to  attain,  fewer  still  (and  it  is  not 
an  admirable  quality)  the  power  to  stabilize 
the  moment;  subtlety  is  required  to  achieve  that 
condition,  and  subtlety  rarely  yokes  with  selfless- 
ness ;  nearly  always  a  subtle  love  imposes  sacrifice. 

Greville  played  on  Doro's  nature  like  wind  on 
flame ;  he  was  vastly  intrigued  himself,  but  he  had 
no  least  wish  to  transform  intrigue  into  action ;  for 
him  the  hazard  of  the  game  was  a  great  charm.  .  .  . 

Doro,  hesitant,  nervous,  delightfully  young,  was 
swept  from  one  mood  to  another  by  Pan's  atten- 
tions, his  lack  of  them,  by  the  endlessly  disturbing 
sense  of  "  waiting  "  which  never  left  her. 

She  could  have  told  no  one  what  she  felt ;  luckily 
there  was  no  one  to  watch  her  very  closely.  Hex 

153 


154  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

was  ill  for  rather  a  long  time ;  G  was  generally  with 
him,  and  Tony  and  Pembroke  were  immersed  in 
the  season's  sport,  which  gave  little  opportunity  for 
scrutiny  of  subtlety. 

Often  Pan  vanished  to  town  for  week-ends,  and 
then  Doro  knew  how  the  time  dragged. 

Consciously,  she  never  said  to  herself  at  this  time, 
"  This  is  love."  Love  had  held  so  small  place  in  her 
life  as  a  subject  to  be  brought  for  examination. 

But  she  waited  with  a  sickening  sense  of  sus- 
pense for  the  arrival  of  the  car  when  it  had  gone  in 
to  meet  the  six  o'clock  train.  Often  Pan  did  not 
come  when  he  had  said  he  would,  and  then,  when 
she  had  waited  in  the  hall  and  learnt  of  his  non- 
arrival,  she  would  slip  away  upstairs  to  her  own 
sitting-room,  and  sit  there  in  the  twilight  until 
Emilia  came  to  dress  her  for  dinner. 

She  was  not  really  unhappy ;  the  "  waiting  "  sense 
was  an  excitement,  every  hour  held  some  promise. 

Whimsically,  watching  the  drive  one  day  at  post 
time,  for  Pan  had  written  occasionally  from  town, 
and  this  was  during  a  visit  there,  she  thought  of 
the  magic  of  the  postman;  until  Pan's  advent  he 
had  been  John  Thomas  from  the  forge,  now  he  was 
either  heaven's  messenger,  or  a  heartless  old  man 
who  might  as  well  never  have  been  born ! 

Pan  motored  down  for  Christmas,  however,  arriv- 
ing on  Christmas  Eve  laden  with  gifts,  books  for 
Rex,  a  tiny  diamond  wrist-watch  on  a  green  ribbon 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  155 

with  an  emerald  clasp  for  Doro,  appropriate  gifts 
for  all. 

He  came  into  the  big  hall,  exclaiming  at  the  cold, 
declaring  he  was  frozen,  but  looking  fit  and  smart. 

He  sat  down  beside  Doro;  so  close  to  her  that 
the  sleeve  of  his  coat  touched  her  arm. 

"  Glad  to  see  me?  "  he  asked  in  a  voice  only  she 
could  hear. 

A  wild  shyness  prevented  her  answering. 

"  Aren't  you?  "  Pan  teased  softly.  "Hard-hearted 
being!  And  I  have  thought  of  meeting  you,  only 
that,  all  the  way  down  in  the  car.  The  cold  didn't 
matter  because  of  that  thought;  it  was  like  a  fire 
and  kept  me  warm." 

He  held  out  his  hands  to  the  real  fire  now,  and 
the  keen  flame  shone  through  their  lean  fineness. 

Doro  felt  a  frantic  longing  to  put  out  her  hand, 
too,  and  twine  her  fingers  in  those  other  long  ones. 
She  stole  a  glance  at  Pan's  bent  head,  on  which  the 
firelight  glowed,  making  his  dark  hair  glitter  a 
little. 

At  last  she  said  very  shyly : 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  came  for  Christmas,  after  all." 

Pan  laughed.  He  had  that  laugh  which  can  hurt, 
which  is  on  a  note  of  mockery,  of  disbelief,  it  seems 
always. 

"  I  am  indeed  honoured,"  he  said  lightly. 

All  Doro's  lit  happiness  was  extinguished  by  his 
voice ;  it  fell  away  to  a  little  heap  of  desolate  ash, 
vain  hopes  burnt  out. 


156  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

She  rose  with  a  murmur  of  some  duty  as  hostess ; 
her  one  desire  was  to  save  her  pathetic  little  dignity. 
Then  as  she  moved  she  trembled  uncontrollably,  for 
Pan's  hand  had  slid  down  and  clasped  hers,  his 
fingers  twined  closely  *in  her  own. 

For  an  instant  the  hall,  the  huge  leaping  fire, 
every  familiar  sight  and  sound  vanished;  she  felt 
physically  faint  with  an  overwhelming  joy,  and  deep 
in  her  heart  she  asked  piteously: 

"  What  happened — what  happened?  " 

Rex  sauntered  across,  her  hand  was  freed ;  but  as 
Pan's  fingers  loosed  her  own,  again  that  wonderful 
dizzying  sweetness  swept  over  her,  and  she  wanted 
to  whisper,  "  Ah !  don't  take  your  hand  away — don't 
go,  don't  go." 

"Rather  in  the  dark  over  here,  aren't  you?" 
Rex's  voice  asked.  "  One  moment."  He  leant  across, 
and  a  light  leapt  to  being ;  he  fetched  cake  for  Doro, 
and  waited  beside  her  and  Pan. 

"  Had  a  good  time  in  town?  "  he  asked  Pan. 

"  Thanks,  yes.  Are  you  better?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  nearly  all  right.  I  mean  to  hunt  next 
week." 

"  And  when  do  you  go  back  to  school?  " 

Rex  laughed.  He  knew  quite  well  that  Pan  was 
aware  he  had  had  to  leave  Eton  because  of  his 
health,  and  the  question  genuinely  amused  him  be- 
cause he  penetrated  its  reason. 

"  I  don't.  I  stay  here  " — he  smiled  his  peculiarly 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  157 

attractive  smile,  glancing  at  Doro — "  and  look  after 
Doro." 

Doro  protested,  of  course ;  laughed  nervously.  To 
himself  Pan  said,  "  The  damned  young  cub  saw — 
how  much  will  he  suspect?  " 

He  met  Rex's  clear,  rather  aloof  gaze  with  a  hard 
stare ;  he  might  gibe  with  hidden  dislike  at  Rex,  but 
he  acknowledged  him  no  mean  opponent.  There  was 
about  Eex  an  effect  of  serenity;  he  gave  the  im- 
pression of  one  who  had  a  real  sense  of  the  dignity 
of  life,  despite  his  youth. 

As  he  leant  up  against  one  side  of  the  high  fire- 
place, his  slight  tall  figure  outlined  against  the  grey 
stone  wall  with  its  heavy  design,  he  was  nearly  as 
tall  as  Pan,  and  he  had  the  same  narrow  virile  hands 
and  feet,  the  same  breadth  of  shoulder.  He  stayed 
beside  Pan  and  Doro,  smoking  imperturbably  until 
the  dressing  bell  rang. 

"  Get  a  move  on,  Doro,"  he  said  then.   "  We've  a 
crowd  dining,  and  we  must  be  down." 
He  slid  an  arm  through  Doro's  and  led  her  away. 
Pan  watched  them,  his  eyes  narrowed.  .   .   . 
But  he  had  his  moment  later,  when  Doro  came 
down  early  (he  had  known  she  would  be  early!) 
wearing  a  white  chiffon  frock  with  a  silver  sash 
and  her  first  pearls,  Tony's  gift  to  her ;  they  lay  like 
clouded  stars  at  dawn  upon  the  faint  rise  of  her 
white  breast. 

"This,"  she  told  Pan,  touching  them,  "is  an 
event ;  did  you  know?  Oh,  but  yes !  For  we  live  for 


158  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

the  first  string  of  pearls,  the  real  kind,  not  just 
seed  ones.  When  we  attain  the  real  ones  we^re 
grown  up ! "  w 

"  No  pearls,  no  jewels  ever  made  could  make  you 
more  beautiful  than  you  are,"  Pan  said  very  low. 

"  Oh ! "  Doro  said  almost  in  a  whisper;  her  colour 
sped  and  returned  under  his  words,  like  soft  flames 
driven  by  the  wind. 

Pan  felt  himself  a  little  shaken ;  again  and  again 
he  had  realized  there  was  a  danger.  Doro  was  too 
vivid,  too  sensitive;  he  would  need  more  control  if 
he  went  far  in  this  white  yet  so  intriguing  passion. 
His  mouth  felt  a  little  dry  now.  He  was  seized 
suddenly  by  an  almost  uncontrollable  impulse  to 
kiss  Doro;  he  mastered  himself  with  an  effort,  a 
visible  one,  for  he  paled. 

"  What  is  it?  "  Doro  asked,  her  hand  upon  his 
arm. 

At  that  instant  Tony  appeared  on  the  landing. 
He  bulked  there  blackly,  his  heavy  face  immobile, 
but  his  small,  deep-set  eyes  glowed  for  a  moment. 

Then  he  came  down,  treading  very  softly. 

"Admirin'  Doro's  pearls,  Pan?"  he  asked,  halt- 
ing beside  her. 

"  They  are  lovely,"  Pan  answered  too  quickly. 

"  She  becomes  'em,"  Tony  said  in  his  rather 
hoarse  voice.  He  stopped  speaking  a  moment,  then 
added  broadly:  "Wonder  how  many  girls  you've 
given  pearls  to,  Pan,  eh?  " 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  159 

Then,  chuckling  huskily,  he  drew  Doro  on  with 
him  towards  the  drawing-room. 

She  was  nearly  as  tall  as  he,  and  he  glanced  at 
her  with  needle-point  scrutiny. 

By  God,  had  Pan  made  an  impression — already? 

His  dark  face  purpled  at  the  thought. 

Pan,  with  his  list  of  amours,  his  rotten  cheap 
marriage,  dishonourable  attempt  at  divorce.  .  .  . 

He  said  abruptly  to  Doro : 

"  Run  up  to  G  and  tell  her  I  want  her,  will  you?  " 

Pan  had  entered  the  room.  He  sat  down  now  in  a 
big  chair  and  drew  an  illustrated  towards  him. 

Tony  waited  until  Doro  had  disappeared,  then 
he  crossed  the  room. 

He  stood  beside  Pan,  looking  down  at  him  with 
his  impassive  stare.  Finally  he  said: 

"  I  may  be  wrong.  I  hope  I  am.  If  I  am  not,  then, 
by  God,  you  may  go  a  beggar.  D'you  hear?  " 

"What  on  earth?"  Pan  asked  indifferently,  but 
his  eyelids  flickered. 

"  You  know  all  right,"  Tony  said,  his  voice  short 
as  if  with  suppressed  savagery,  "  and  I  know  you 
know.  One  look  at  Doro  that  you  should  not  give 
and — you  go." 

"  I  suppose,"  Pan  said  with  assumed  indolence, 
"  it  would  be  quite  useless  for  me  to  tell  you  that 
your — er — what  shall  one  call  them — suspicions 
seems  too  important  a  word  for  an  idea  so  foolish — 
are  entirely  unfounded?  " 


160  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Tony  gave  a  short  laugh.  He  said  nothing,  but 
stared  at  Pan,  an  ugly  little  smile  on  his  lips,  the 
hot  glow  in  his  eyes. 

"  I've  told  you,"  he  said  contemptuously ;  "  you 
can  take  it  I  mean  it."  He  swung  round  with  amaz- 
ing swiftness  for  so  big  a  man.  "  Hands  off — or  no 
allowance." 

He  walked  to  the  fireplace,  cut  a  cigar  carefully, 
and  lit  it. 

To  himself  Pan  was  saying  in  inarticulate  fury : 

"  Damn  you,  damn  you,  damn  you." 

He  laboured  under  no  delusion  with  regard  to 
Rexford's  outlook;  what  he  said  he  would  do,  he 
would  do. 

Doro  came  back.  She  was  singing  Carmen  softly ; 
she  danced  into  the  room,  her  eyes  seeking  Pan,  the 
words,  "  Si  je  t'aime  prends  garde  a  toil "  a  chal- 
lenge, a  declaration  to  him. 

She  danced  with  muted  castanets,  her  slender 
hands  making  every  gesture;  and  she  danced  as 
Spanish  women  do  with  the  lithe  sway  of  the  body, 
like  the  stem  of  a  flower  bending. 

"Tony,  I'll  be  an  opera  singer  yet,"  she  cried 
gaily ;  "  darling,  I  will.  Cavini  says  "—she  used  her 
hands,  imitating  the  Italian's  florid  manner — "  '  Ah, 
but  you  are  dee-vine — a  little  later,  yes — you  could 
startle  the  worrld ! '  Think  of  it,  Antonio,  mio !  " 

"  Rather  not,"  Tony  said  grimly. 

Rex  came  in,  and  Doro  showed  him  the  pearls; 
he  glowed  responsively. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  161 

"  Oh,  I  say !  How  ripping,  Doro !  "  He  turned 
to  his  father,  using  almost  his  own  words :  "  She 
becomes  them,  sir,  doesn't  she?  " 

G,  resplendent  in  black  velvet  and  diamonds,  sat 
down  at  the  piano  and  began  to  play  an  old-fash- 
ioned polka. 

"Come  on,  Doro,"  Rex  urged. 

They  danced  away  together,  Eex's  limp  scarcely 
evident. 

" '  See  me  dance  the  polka/  "  he  sang  absurdly. 
"  G,  what  hearts  have  unburdened  themselves  to 
you  to  this  sprightly  step?" 

Doro's  eyes  sought  Pan  persistently,  but  he  did 
not  glance  at  her. 

One  of  love's  "little  fears"  entered  her  heart, 
chilling  its  warm  happiness. 

What  had  happened,  on  this  day  of  all  days? 
Ail  through  the  long  dinner  she  tried  to  meet  his 
glance;  he  would  not  look  at  her. 

But  others  did.  Eichard  Colefax,  down  from  his 
first  term  at  Magdalen,  pre-eminently  therefore  a 
"  blood,"  a  man  of  the  world,  paid  her  extravagant 
compliments,  drank  to  her  incessantly,  his  ardent 
boyish  face  pale,  his  eyes  aflame.  Doro  drank  with 
him,  or  with  Christopher  Arundel,  whose  dark 
satiric  face  glowed  on  her.  She  had  to  divide  her 
dances.  Pan  had  asked  for  none. 

Again  and  again  she  danced  past  him,  saw  him, 
yet  feigned  an  utter  unobservance. 


162  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

In  one  of  the  conservatories  Richard  Colefax 
caught  her  hand. 

"  Oh  I  say,  Doro  " — his  voice  was  trembling — • 
"  you — you're  so — so  utterly  lovely — Doro ! " 

His  clasp  was  compelling,  but  Doro  drew  back. 

Here  was  no  swift  fire  leaping  from  hand  to  hand, 
no  wonderful  maddening  thrill  which  seemed  to 
sweep  one's  soul  towards  a  passionate  paradise. 
Richard  seemed  like  a  toy,  a  marionette  dancing 
steps  which  were  jerked  from  it  by  an  unknown 
power,  and  he  did  not  matter,  he  did  not  count. 

She  led  him  back  to  the  ballroom  by  the  promise 
of  the  next  dance.  Pan  was  near  the  door,  and  now, 
for  one  full  instant,  Doro's  eyes  and  his  met;  his 
glance  swerved  to  young  Richard's  white,  set  face, 
and  Doro  saw  his  eyes  narrow  as  she  had  noticed 
they  did  only  in  moments  of  tension. 

An  unreasoning  sense  of  triumph  filled  her,  an 
insane  recklessness  seemed  to  blaze  up  in  the  over- 
excited mind. 

"Ah!  don't  you  want  to  dance  with  me, 
Richard?"  she  asked  softly,  allure  in  her  every 
gesture,  every  tone  of  her  voice. 

"  You  know  I  do,"  he  said  vehemently.  His  arm 
went  round  her,  more  closely  than  it  need  have 
done,  and  deliberately,  her  gaze  still  on  Pan,  she 
leant  her  head  so  near  Richard's  shoulder  that  his 
lips  touched  her  hair. 

She  stopped  dancing  when  they  neared  Pan  again 
and  walked  slowly  past  him,  talking  with  Richard. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  163 

But,  again  in  the  conservatory,  all  the  unnatural 
triumph  fled. 

"  I  am  so  tired,  Kichard,"  she  said  tonelessly. 

"  I'll  get  you  some  champagne,"  he  answered 
quickly ;  "  I  won't  be  long.  I  saw  a  footman  a 
moment  ago." 

As  he  left  the  conservatory  Pan  entered  it ;  he  was 
smiling  the  little  "  fine  "  smile  which  gave  his  face 
in  some  strange  way  a  sharper  outline.  He  crossed 
to  Doro,  his  lithe  tread  noiseless  on  the  marble 
floor,  and  stood  before  her. 

"  We  can  hear  the  band  from  here,"  he  said  un- 
emotionally. "  Will  you  not  finish  this  with  me?  I 
have  indeed  been  on  short  commons  to-night! 
Aphrodite  neglects  her  faithful  subjects,  I  am  in- 
clined to  think!  The  old  law,  familiarity,  and  so 
forth!" 

That  bitter-sweet  hurtness  at  his  neglect  which 
had  throbbed  through  her  all  the  evening  held  Doro 
silent. 

She  rose  and  let  Pan  dance  with  her;  the  music 
came  to  them  very  faintly ;  often  they  lost  it  as  they 
danced  almost  noiselessly  under  the  deeply  droop- 
ing palms;  somewhere  a  fountain  played,  and  its 
fall  and  ripple  were  audible  as  they  went  close  to  it ; 
the  conservatory  was  like  a  summer  night  after  rain, 
as  humid,  as  adorably  fragrant  of  bruised  leaves 
and  growing  flowers,  and  rich  earth.  .  .  . 

It  seemed  to  Doro  as  though,  once  in  Pan's  arms, 
all  pain  and  misery  vanished,  as  if  his  touch  held 


164  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

supreme  happiness.  She  breathed  in  little  panting 
sighs,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  wide,  almost  implor- 
ing. And  once  she  drew  Pan  closer  involuntarily, 
and  under  that  slight  pressure  his  blood  quickened 
fiercely. 

He  answered  it  by  drawing  her  nearer;  and,  at 
the  contact  of  her  slender  sweetness,  the  vision  of 
her  face,  drained  now  of  its  rose  colour,  but  lovely 
with  a  pale  loveliness  which  intoxicated  him,  he 
bent  his  head  and  kissed  those  parted  lips,  drawing 
between  his  own  the  fluttering  breath  which  came 
and  went. 

"  Doro ! "  he  whispered. 

She  did  not  answer,  only  her  eyes — mystic,  rapt — 
fell  beneath  his  glance,  those  white  eyelids,  so  like 
white  wings,  were  as  an  emblem  of  adoring  sur- 
render. He  kissed  them,  kissed  the  line  of  her  bur- 
nished hair  where  it  sprang  away  so  vitally  from 
her  brow,  kissed  the  dark  eyelashes,  and  reached 
her  lips  again. 

Endless  seemed  those  kisses  which  took  and  took, 
which  seemed  to  Doro  to  sink  into  her  very  soul, 
to  drain  her  being  into  Pan's. 

There  was  a  sound,  faint,  yet  Pan  heard  it,  and 
in  one  second  Doro  found  herself  released,  and  Pan 
was  calling  Richard's  name  urbanely.  Uncon- 
sciously, she  put  out  a  hand  and  caught  at  the  edge 
of  the  marble  rim  of  the  wide  basin  which  held  the 
fountain;  above  her,  about  her,  around  her,  there 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  165 

seemed  a  mystery  of  golden  tracery,  of  waving 
leaves,  of  falling  water  like  a  silver  veil. 

She  heard  Eichard's  voice  as  if  from  very  far 
away. 

"  You  must  drink  this — you  are  faint." 

Mechanically  she  put  her  lips  to  the  glass  he  held 
and  drank. 

The  trees  became  vast  palms  again,  the  fountain 
was  only  a  silver  thread  which  rose  and  fell,  she 
could  hear  the  echo  of  the  music. 

"I  say" — Richard's  voice  came  to  her — "you 
are  simply  dead  tired,  Doro.  You  mustn't  dance  any 
more.  We'll  sit  it  out." 

"  I — I  think  if  you  don't  mind  I'll  go  to  my  room," 
Doro  said;  "if  you  don't  mind,  Richard." 

He  accompanied  her  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and 
watched  her  out  of  sight. 

Her  own  room  was  dark,  and  cool,  and  still.  She 
stood  beside  the  window  with  closed  eyes.  It  had 
really  happened — it  had  been  no  dream  of  a  rest- 
lessly sweet  night — Pan  and  she  had  kissed — he  did 
love  her  ...  he  did  ...  all  the  fears  and  doubts 
were  over,  he  loved  her  .  .  .  her  wonderful  dream 
god — her  king.  .  .  .  Oh,  that  to-night  could  ever 
pass — oh !  that  it  might  have  lasted  for  ever  .  .  . 
they  two  together  at  last  .  .  .  and  all  the  happy- 
unhappy  strangeness  done  away  with  for  ever. 

Oh !  to  die  now — utterly,  utterly  happy,  with  only 
the  memory  of  Pan's  eyes  gazing  into  hers,  Pan's 
lips  drinking  in  her  soul's  love. 


166  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Her  utter  inexperience  of  love  strove  with  the 
flame-like  nature  of  her  adoration.  Her  mind  seemed 
as  if  it  were  lit  by  a  tired  blaze,  its  thoughts 
caressed  her,  steeped  her  being  in  a  golden  warmth. 

She  slipped  suddenly  on  to  the  deep  window-seat 
and,  like  a  child,  put  her  head  down  on  her  out- 
stretched arms. 

It  was  as  if  a  violent  storm  had  swept  over  her 
and  still,  despite  its  passing,  she  lay  spent  and 
exhausted  by  it;  the  "clear  shining"  was  yet  to 
come. 

She  confused  herself,  was  shy  with  herself, 
triumphant,  heavenly  happy  and  yet  afraid.  Oh! 
to  have  kept  those  moments,  to  live  them  again ! 

To  feel  again  in  reality  the  wild  rapture  of  that 
first  kiss  of  her  whole  life,  to  live  it  through  again, 
though  whilst  it  had  lasted  she  had  wondered  if  she 
were  not  dying  in  the  ecstasy  of  passion  which  had 
thrilled  through  her. 

Some  tiny  voice  had  said  within  her :  "This  is  the 
end — this  is  the  end !  " 

Then  they  had  kissed  again,  and  all  that  rapture 
which  had  seemed  as  if  it  must  break  her  heart  by 
its  dominion  had  swept  over  her  anew.  Even  now, 
under  her  hand,  her  heart  beat  as  if  it  would  escape 
its  bondage.  .  .  . 

The  door  opened  very,  very  cautiously.  Doro 
leant  up,  her  hands  pressed  down  on  either  side, 
wide-eyed,  listening. 

And  Pan's  voice,  Pan's,  said :  "  Doro ! " 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  167 

She  had  reached  his  arms  before  the  word  had 
wholly  left  his  lips. 

In  the  darkness  Pan's  face  went  ashen;  he  held 
her  to  him  in  an  embrace  which  was  madness,  as 
fiercely  he  put  her  away  from  him. 

"  I  came,"  he  said,  stumbling  on  Ms  words,  such 
words  making  his  lips  stiff  in  such  an  hour,  "  to— 
to — Doro,  we  mustn't  speak  of  this — loving  one 
another — yet.  Do  you  understand?  Rexford — he'd 
be  furious.  Promise  me  ...  it  shall  be  a  secret— 
our  secret " 

"  Oh,  I  promise,  our  heavenly  secret — the  secret 
of  your  heart  and  mine!  Kiss  me  again,  only  kiss 
me  again ! " 

Still  he  drew  back,  a  confused  feeling,  which  had 
in  it,  miraculously,  pity,  surging  over  him. 

Doro's  lips  brushed  his,  such  a  fugitive  "  young  " 
little  kiss  from  one  who  knew  no  other  kisses,  but, 
ah!  who  longed  to  learn.  And  she  laughed  a  tiny 
frightened  little  laugh  after  it,  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  all  her  white  sweetness  offering  itself  to 
him  so  anxiously. 

The  world,  their  world  seemed  unutterably  far 
away ;  for  them  there  was  but  "  the  hiding  and  re- 
ceiving night "  as  empire,  and  for  music  the  beating 
of  their  hearts. 

Pan  rested  his  hand  upon  Doro's  heart. 

"  Is  it  mine?  " 

"  It  is  all  yours." 


168  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

And  he  felt  it  leap  and  strain  beneath  his  hand 
as  if  to  reach  him  actually;  for  an  instant  he 
thought  of  holding  a  dove  within  his  hand,  and 
feeling  its  life*  throb  so. 

He  put  his  other  arm  about  her,  and  with  it  drew 
her  to  him  in  an  embrace  which,  for  Doro,  robbed 
Heaven  of  its  hopes,  its  glories,  its  revelation. 

Her  very  life  seemed  to  float  between  her  lips  to 
lose  itself  in  Pan's  love ;  she  felt  as  if  she  swooned 
in  ecstasy,  half -magic  pain,  half -endless  rapture. 

Thoughts  like  golden  falling  stars  flashed  through 
her  mind,  a  world  she  had  never  dreamt  could  be 
seemed  to  open  before  her  eyes.  Dimly,  dimly,  Pan's 
voice  reached  her. 

"  I  love  you — I  love  you."  .  .  . 

A  door  closed,  and  he  had  left  her,  left  her  with 
a  kiss  half  kissed  upon  her  parted  longing  lips. 

"  Pan !  "  she  cried  in  a  little  broken  whisper.. 

There  was  no  answer — only  the  wind  blew  the 
curtains  gently  inward,  and  they  rippled  like  a 
tiny  wave  upon  the  wainscoating. 

He  had  gone — it  was  over. 

She  walked  to  the  window  again,  and  found  that 
she  was  trembling  so  that  even  those  few  steps  were 
quite  uncertain.  But  the  window-seat  received  her 
kindly,  and  she  crouched  down  on  it,  her  head 
pillowed  on  her  arm,  her  face  upturned  to  the  blue- 
black  sky  with  its  mail  of  silver. 

The  night  was  not  very  cold;  the  wind  had 
changed  since  sunset  and  now  blew  softly ;  a  cloud 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  169 

obscured  the  moon  and  the  world  was  hid  in  soft, 
shielding  darkness. 

Never  before  had  the  night  seemed  wonderful, 
amazing,  new  almost,  as  it  did  now. 

But  now — now  suddenly  it  was  the  time  of  love, 
the  time  when  there  need  be  no  more  concealing,  no 
more  hesitation. 

"Oh,  I  live,  I  live!"  Doro  told  herself.  "And 
oh!  the  rest  of  time  is  mine  to  love  him — Pan — 
Pan." 


CHAPTER  XI 

"Passion  and  heart's  desire, 
All  of  youth's  splendid  fire 
To  you  alone  I  gave. 
I  bade  red  roses  wave, 
I  raised  a  monument 
To  mark  the  way  you  went " 

THE  morning  was  an  ordeal.  Doro  kept  Emilia 
with  her  a  long  while ;  twice  she  changed  her 
frock.  At  last  it  was  impossible  to  linger  any 
longer,  however  much  her  shyness  deepened.    She 
clasped  Tony's  pearls  round  her  throat  and  ran 
downstairs. 

And,  after  all,  she  need  not  have  felt  so  nervous. 
Pan  was  not  there ! 

Eex  was  waiting  for  her.  He  got  her  hot  toast 
and  coffee,  and  inquired  about  each  little  dish 
which  stood  above  its  flame. 

"  Just  this,"  Doro  said. 

"  Saving  up  for  dinner?  "  Rex  inquired. 

"Yes!" 

They  laughed. 

"  Where  did  you  get  to?  "  Rex  asked  next.  "  Last 
night,  I  mean?  I  hunted  everywhere  for  you  till 
Colefax  told  me  with  a  superior  air  that  he  had 
advised  you  to  rest!  I  say,  Doro,  old  Dickie  has 
also  gone  up — up  the  pole,  or  to  the  stars,  or  wher- 

170 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  171 

ever  you  like  to  call  the  ascent  towards  true  love ! 
He  raves,  he  dithers.  What  d'you  think  of  him  ?  " 

He  spoke  lightly,  but  his  eyes  were  serious. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  at  all,"  Doro  answered. 

"  We'll  see  no  end  of  him  this  vac,  though." 

He  sat  down  on  the  broad  leather  fender-seat. 

"  I  say,  Doro,  I  wonder  who  you  will  marry?  " 

Doro  felt  the  colour  race  to  her  face.  She  said 
confusedly : 

"  Oh,  don't  be  an  idiot,  Rex !  " 

The  door  opened  and  Pan  came  in. 

"  We  were  discussing  Doro's  marriage,"  Rex  said 
urbanely.  "What's  your  view  on  this  momentous 
question,  Pan?" 

"  Does  our  view,  yours  or  mine  matter?  Isn't 
our  outlook  arranged  for  us,  doled  out  to  us  by  that 
of  Doro?  "  Pan  answered.  He  searched  amongst 
the  silver  dishes  leisurely. 

Rex  hung  on ;  Doro  stood  by  the  fireplace.  At  last 
Pan  rose.  Doro  waited  now  with  a  sense  of  almost 
suffocating  tension.  Pan  spoke  to  Rex. 

"  Coming  for  a  tramp?  One  must  do  something 
on  this  sort  of  day ! " 

"Thanks,  I  don't  think  I  will.  I  want  to  save 
myself  for  hunting  next  week." 

"  I'll  come,"  Doro  said. 

"  Good ;  I'll  be  down  in  a  few  minutes." 

Doro  went  off  too,  to  have  her  boots  put  on.  Rex 
stayed  beside  the  fire;  he  smiled  to  himself;  the 
smile  matched  the  bleak  dreariness  of  the  day. 


172  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  was  thinking :  "  He  knows  I  can't  walk  much 
yet;  he  only  asked  me  because  he  knew " 

Outside,  cutting  across  the  short,  hard  grass,  Pan 
said: 

"  You  played  up  very  well !  " 

"Played  up?"   Doro's  eyes  were  wide. 

"  I  meant  you  to  break  in  just  as  you  did." 

"  Then  I'm  glad  I  did,  but  I  didn't  know.  I  "— 
she  flashed  an  enchanting  smile  at  Pan — "  I  had  to 
be  alone  with  you,  I  felt,  and  this  seemed  such  a 
chance." 

"  Oh  youth ! "  Pan's  "  morning  after  "  soul  sighed 
within  him;  he  deplored  this  blatant  frankness; 
intrigue  to  him  was  one  of  the  joys  of  a  love  affair. 
To  be  unconscious  of  its  very  existence,  and  to  admit 
one's  crime ! 

It  was  indeed  the  morning  after  in  good  earnest ! 

Yet,  as  he  glanced  at  Doro  the  day  seemed  fairer ; 
she  was  so  slight  and  sweet,  a  somehow  splendid 
thing  in  her  boyish  tweeds,  a  felt  hat  crammed  down 
on  her  bright  hair,  an  absurd  little  jay  feather 
thrust  into  its  black  ribbon,  her  eyes  holding  stars 
within  their  depths  as  she  met  his  glance. 

She  thrust  a  gloved  hand  through  his  arm. 

"  Pan " 

He  looked  back  at  the  house  to  see  if  they  could 
be  glimpsed,  decided  not,  and  pressed  the  hand 
resting  on  his  arm. 

Gorgeous  rose-colour  flamed  in  Doro's  face. 

"  Oh,  Pan — I  thought  you  had  forgotten — and  it 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  173 

really  happened !  I  keep  telling  myself  that.  I  say : 
'  It  really  happened — it  happened — he  loves  me,  lie 
kissed  me.'  Pan " 

"  Yes,  Aphrodite?  " 

"  Pan,  couldn't  you?  Just  a  little  baby  one,  even 
if  it  is  morning  time?  "  It's  Christmas  time,  too, 
when  one  is  expected  to  be  generous !  " 

Her  eager,  so  untouched  vividness  thrilled  him 
despite  the  "  after  "  mood,  his  caution,  his  resolu- 
tion to  "  slow  back." 

Yet,  even  so,  he  drew  Doro  towards  the  little 
copse  Tony  had  just  planted,  and  kissed  her  there 
between  the  little  innocent  silver  beech  trees  which 
afforded,  after  all,  scant  protection,  and  needed  it 
themselves,  indeed ! 

In  this  white  light,  a  stable  clock  chiming  eleven 
somewhere,  Pan  felt  out  of  tune  with  kissing;  a 
winter's  morning,  walking  over  stubble-land,  was 
not  the  hour  or  place  for  romance. 

Or  only  untried  youth  could  find  it  so ! 

And  now  Doro  asked : 

"  Why  must  we  be  secret  about  loving,  Pan?  " 

Pan  gave  a  little  laugh  which  held  no  amusement. 

"  Because  Kexford  decrees  it." 

"But  how  did  he  know?  We  didn't  till— till  we 
kissed.  If  I  just  told  him,  he'd  be  all  right." 

Pan  stopped  in  his  stride;  he  stood  before  Doro 
holding  her  hands. 

"  Look  here,  you  mustn't  tell  Rexford.  I  cannot 
explain  yet;  later  I  will.  But  give  me  your  word 


174  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

our  secret  shall  be  ours  till  I  set  you  free  from 
your  promise." 

"  I  promise,  Pan." 

Her  face  was  lifted  to  his,  he  bent  and  kissed  the 
cool  mouth  which  was  so  near,  and  then,  despite  the 
winter  morn  and  stubble-land,  kissed  it  again  and 
again,  until  its  coldness  changed  to  soft  flame  which 
lit  his  being  to  passion. 

Beneath  the  white  arc  of  the  hard  sky  they  stood 
and  kissed,  hands  entwined,  dark  head  and  shining 
head  leaning  to  one  another. 

They  stood  so  still  that  a  rabbit,  which  had  come 
up  to  take  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  sat  and  watched 
them  carelessly,  and  a  robin  near  by  broke  into  gay 
singing. 

From  a  distant  hill,  Tony,  riding  back  slowly 
from  Pointers,  saw  their  two  figures.  He  pulled  up 
his  horse;  his  sight  was  keen,  his  range  long;  he 
sat  on  the  hill  gazing  and  thinking. 

An  anger  like  a  choking  fever  seized  him;  he 
panted  for  breath,  and  pulled  with  twitching  fingers 
at  his  soft  stock ;  his  face  grew  purple,  his  lips  had 
a  bluish  line  about  them. 

He  watched  until  the  two  figures  drew  apart,  then 
he  wheeled  his  horse  and  rode  towards  the  house. 

Doro  said  to  Pan,  her  voice  divinely  shaken : 

"  Oh,  Pan — Pan — I  love  you — I  love  you !  " 

Her  eyes  roamed  beyond  him,  and  she  saw  the 
absurd  rabbit. 

"  Eavesdropper !  "  she  laughed  deliciously. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  175 

Pan  had  changed  colour;  he  swung  round 
violently,  and  saw  a  glint  of  grey  fur. 

Doro  explained. 

But  he  seemed  rather  dk  trait ;  in  his  mind  he  was 
telling  himself  it  was  "  devilish  open  thereabouts — 
whatever  induced  me ?  " 

Still,  after  all,  kissing  a  pretty  girl  was  not  a 
crime ! 

If  Doro  came  by  no  greater  hurt  than  his  kisses, 
her  life  would  not  be  one  of  deep  distress ! 

Rexford  was  a  surley  old  fool;  his  dog-in-the- 
manger  attitude  was  ridiculous.  Did  he  suppose  a 
girl  like  Doro,  a  girl  quick  with  southern  fire  and 
longing,  was  likely  to  go  through  life  unkissed? 

At  that  instant  in  his  business  room,  to  which  he 
retreated  whenever  he  wished  to  think  (interpret 
sleep — generally),  Tony  was  pacing  up  and  down, 
his  teeth  shut  on  a  pipe,  his  big  hands  locked  behind 
his  back. 

As  Pan  had  thought  with  cynical,  cheap  disparage- 
ment of  Doro's  youth,  its  promise,  the  penalties  life 
might  exact  from  it,  so  Tony  thought  of  her  as  a 
little  girl,  shod  in  emerald-green,  as  a  bigger  girl 
riding  for  the  first  time  beside  him,  racing  to  him 
on  her  fifteenth  birthday,  and  hugging  him  wildly 
for  his  gift  of  a  hunter.  .  .  . 

Pan  touching  that  straight  sweetness,  soiling  it 
with  his  caresses.  .  .  . 

By  God — he  caught  a  glimpse  of  himself  in  a  tiny 
old  mirror,  and  he  stood  still,  staring. 


176  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Did  he  really  look  like  that? 

He  made  a  singular  effort  and  controlled  his 
anger. 

For  one  second  he  had  felt  the  power  of  his  two 
hands  as  if,  in  reality,  he  had  held  Pan's  throat 
between  them,  and  that  sudden  vision  of  himself  in 
the  little  mirror  had  shown  him  the  savage  in 
himself. 

All  his  interest  in  women,  since  Francesca's 
death,  had  come  to  centre  in  Doro;  peculiarly  his, 
from  the  very  first,  he  had  felt  even  when  he  had 
learnt  of  Rex's  coming,  that  no  other  child  would 
quite  take  her  place  with  him. 

Francesca's  death  had  deepened  the  belonging 
between  them,  and  perhaps  because  Doro  had  been 
so  much  the  desire  of  his  dream,  the  embodiment 
of  his  longing,  she  had  seemed  more  his  than  the 
actual  flesh  of  his  flesh  had  done. 

So  much  gaiety  of  life,  gladness  had  come  with 
her — and,  as  well,  the  attainment  of  his  will;  that 
counted  too ! 

Soiled,  spoilt  by  Pan — a  man  he  despised,  and 
with  every  reason ;  the  old  furious  resentment  flared 
up  in  him  again. 

He  rose  from  his  deep  chair  and  plodded  heavily 
to  the  window.  Ah !  He  saw  them ;  they  were  cross- 
ing the  park ;  they  would  be  in  soon.  He  rang  and 
gave  orders.  Mr.  Greville  was  to  be  sent  to  him  as 
soon  as  he  returned.  Then  he  waited. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  177 

Pan  came  in  on  light  feet,  armed  with  suspicion, 
but  outwardly  careless. 

Tony  said  to  him : 

"  I  saw  you  in  the  east  plantation." 

Pan  made  no  answer;  he  was  debating  his  best 
course,  and  he  found  no  easy  choice. 

Tony  kicked  a  log  into  place  violently,  wheeled, 
faced  him  again. 

"  You  will  be  called  to  town,  en  route  for  Paris," 
he  said  harshly.  "  I  suppose  a  wire  can  reach  you 
to-morrow?  " 

"  My  dear  chap !  "  Pan  murmured.  He  took  out 
his  cigarette-case  and  chose  a  cigarette. 

A  great  weight  settled  down  on  Tony's  heart. 

"  Well?  "  he  demanded  on  too  sharp  a  note. 

Pan  permitted  himself  a  smile. 

"  I  am  not  enamoured  of  Hurstpoint,"  he  said 
smoothly,  "  but  I  resent  being  booted  out  of  it.  And 
Paris  is  so  rowdy  at  the  New  Year.  Besides  " — his 
brilliant  eyes  had  been  studying  Tony's  face — 
"  whatever  you  do,  or  do  not  do,  my  dear  Tony,  the 
issue  of  this  matter  rests  with  me." 

He  saw  Tony's  hands  clench  and  unclench. 

As  if  brute  strength  could  match  subtlety ! 

The  little  contemptuous  smile  flickered  across  his 
lips  again. 

"Why  should  not  Doro  love  me?"  he  asked 
quietly.  "  I  may  get  free." 

Tony  took  a  step  towards  him  and  stopped. 


178  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Love  you?  "  he  echoed  thickly.  "  You?  By  gad, 
you  ask  me  that,  knowing  I  know,  knowing  all 
I  know."  He  moved  his  head  once  from  side  to  side 
as  if  he  were  in  pain,  then  turned  away  and  stared 
out  tor  a  very  long  time  at  the  winter-bound  land. 

The  issue  lay  with  Pan — that  was  true. 

Unless  Pan  chose — could  be  made  to  choose  to 
give  Doro  up  entirely,  could  be  forced,  made  to 
accept  his  decision ! 

Humiliation  at  his  powerlessness  dragged  at 
Tony's  stubborn  heart.  He  swung  round  on  Pan 
with  sudden  force. 

"  If  you  will  go  to  Paris  to-morrow,  swear  not  to 
write — make  Doro  think  you  have  simply  forgotten, 
I  will  double  your  allowance." 

They  eyed  one  another  for  an  instant, 

"  If  you  stay  you  will  not  receive  one  penny," 
Tony  finished  dully. 

"  And  to  beg,  I  am  ashamed ! "  Pan  quoted  with 
sneering  bitterness. 

"You  have  the  choice,"  Tony  returned  im- 
placably. 

Pan  looked  at  him  between  narrowed  lids,  hating 
him  with  an  intensity  which  surprised  himself.  His 
mind  broke  its  thought  upon  the  treadmill  of  his 
anxiety  to  find  a  way  out,  and  yet  save  himself. 

He  had  been  covered,  and  had  no  weapon  where- 
with to  fight. 

What  would  it  profit  him  to  refuse?    Rexford 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  179 

would  turn  him  out  of  Hurstpoint,  Doro  be  in- 
accessible. .  .  . 

His  smarting  vanity  seized  on  these  facts;  they 
held  by  their  very  naturalness  and  unavoidable 
truth,  their  inaccessible  obviousness,  some  balm  of 
healing  for  him. 

Only  a  fool  battled  for  a  cause  already  lost. 

He  met  Tony's  savage  stare  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders  slightly. 

"  You  make  a  vast  to-do  about  nothing.  Very 
well,  I  consent." 

They  looked  again  at  one  another,  and  after  a 
pause  Pan  went  out. 

He  carried  with  him  a  sense  of  humiliation  which 
was  like  a  poisoned  goad.  If  Tony  had  felt  murder- 
ous towards  him,  he  felt  towards  Tony  a  desire  to 
stab  in  the  dark,  and  stab  again. 

Doro  was  singing  in  the  music-room.  He  could 
hear  her  voice  as  if  no  corridor  nor  wing  of  the 
house  intervened. 

She  was  singing  an  Italian  song,  a  thing  of 
warmth,  and  sheerly  delightful  prettiness. 

His  heart  beat  suffocatingly  for  an  instant  as  he 
stood  there  listening;  he  had  meant  Doro  to  be  a 
passing  affair,  his  intercourse  with  her  a  trifle  of 
charming  words,  a  kiss  or  two — no  more.  He  had 
the  sense,  in  that  empty  corridor,  of  having  thought 
to  step  down  a  safe  stairway,  and  of  finding  him- 
self poised,  hanging  by  his  hands  to  one  frail  sup- 
port, above  a  void. 


180  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  had  always  withdrawn  himself  so  easily  be- 
fore there  had  been  a  scene.  He  had  left,  and  quite 
simply,  for  him,  the  affair  had  been  ended. 

But  this  time? 

Doro  sang  on.  She  had  chosen  a  little  French 
song,  and  faintly  the  words  reached  Pan.  He  knew 
them,  of  course. 

"  Seule,  elle  pent  mon  mal  guerir " 

He  visioned  her  so  easily,  that  slim  white  throat 
back  flung,  the  shining  head  and  translucent  green 
eyes,  her  parted  scarlet  lips — all  his,  all  his  for  the 
taking ;  more  his  than  she  knew  herself,  more  than 
he  had  the  right  to  think. 

But  he  did  think.  He  let  his  mind  dwell  on  that 
thought  whilst  Doro  sang ;  and  baffled,  hungry  anger 
grew  in  him,  dominated  him. 

Thoughts  which  were  abominable  came  to  him, 
thoughts  without  honour,  of  infinite  baseness. 

It  lay  within  his  will  still  to  beat  down  Kex- 
ford's  power  to  the  lowest  dust,  to  force  him  to 
terms. 

God!  to  do  that,  to  smash  that  hellish  pride  to 
atoms ! 

He  waited  a  littje  longer,  his  darkly  golden  eyes 
opaque  between  their  heavy  lids,  then  he  went  on 
to  the  music-room. 

He  saw  only  Doro  in  it ;  he  did  not  see  the  convex 
mirror  hanging  directly  above  the  piano,  which  re- 
flected her  face.  In  a  chair,  hidden  away,  Rex  was 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  181 

lying  listening,  watching  Doro  as  she  sang,  in  the 
mirror  above  her  head. 

He  saw  Pan's  face,  he  saw  Doro's  eyes  as  she  met 
that  glance  of  Pan's. 

He  got  up  instantly  so  that  they  might  both  real- 
ize his  presence,  though  Doro,  of  course,  had  known 
he  was  there. 

He  waited  a  moment,  made  some  pleasantly  triv- 
ial remark,  then  sauntered  away.  One  of  those  odd 
fancies  which  drift  across  one's  mind  when  it  is 
distressed  came  to  him  to  seek  refuge  in  his  father's 
workroom. 

He  walked  along  to  it,  Mck  III  beside  him. 

His  father  rose  at  his  entrance. 

"  Sorry,"  Rex  said,  "  I  didn't  know  you  were  here. 
I  was  just — just  mouching  about." 

Tony  nodded.  He  glanced  at  his  son,  away  from 
him. 

He  asked  him  jerkily : 

"  Seen  Doro?  " 

"  She's  in  the  music-room — was  a  minute  ago." 

"Seen  Greville?" 

"  He  came  into  the  room  as  I  left." 

Tony  shot  him  another  hard  stare,  absently  patted 
Mck,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  walked  O'lt. 

Rex  took  Nick's  head  between  his  hands. 

"  He  wanted  to  tell  me  something,  old  man,"  he 
said;  "  he'd  have  liked  to,  but  he's  so  dashed  shut-in 
he  can't  speak  easily  when  he's  bothered.  Nick,  old 


182  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

son,  it's  Doro  and  that  beast  Greville.  What'll  we 
do  about  it?" 

Nick  snuggled  against  his  ankle. 

"Because  he's  a  greasy  swine,"  Bex  went  on 
gently ;  "  that  describes  him,  old  son ;  he's  all  that 
and  more.  I've  heard  men  speak  of  him  now  and 
again,  and  when  men  do  say  anything — well,  it's 
generally  long  after  they  might  have  done." 

He  stood  up,  and  Mck  sprang  on  to  Tony's  so- 
called  writing-table,  and  gazed  eagerly  out  of  the 
window,  too. 

"  Of  course,  I  can't  be  just  to  him  because  I  hate 
him,"  Hex  said.  "  I  did  as  a  kid,  and  a  kid's  likes 
and  dislikes  are  amazingly  sound,  I've  come  to 
think.  They  know,  and  haven't  any  further  trouble 
about  it,  whilst  when  we're  grown  up  we're  in- 
fluenced by  outside  considerations,  we  weigh  quali- 
ties— oh !  we're  idiots.  Kids — like  you,  Nick,  know" 

He  went  in  to  lunch,  wondering  rather,  and  found 
to  his  relief  a  crowd  of  people  had  ridden  or  driven 
over. 

All  the  afternoon  they  played  a  game  of  poker ;  in 
the  evening  there  was  to  be  another  dance,  at  the 
Colefax's  this  time. 

"  I'll  drive  you  over,"  Doro,"  Eex  said  to  her ; 
"  we'll  have  the  coupe",  and  if  we  break  down,  God 
help  us ! " 

His  father  was  looking  at  him ;  he  gave  a  quick 
grunt  of  approval  now. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  183 

"We'll  follow  and  pick  up  the  fragments,"  he 
said,  attempting  jollity. 

Doro  came  down  to  Hex  in  the  white  chiffon  dress, 
covered  by  a  chinchilla  coat,  which  had  a  lining  of 
sheer-gold  softest  satin.  She  seemed  to  bloom  out 
of  it  like  a  tiger  lily,  all  whiteness,  goldenness, 
blackness  of  lashes  and  long  eyebrows. 

" Indeed,  yes"  Kex  answered  gravely. 

On  the  way  there  Doro  leant  against  him  happily. 
She  longed  to  tell  Kex  the  secret,  he  always  under- 
stood ;  but  she  did  not  dream  of  breaking  her  word. 

Only  it  would  have  been  so  exciting  just  to  say, 
"  Kex — I  love  Pan — and  he  loves  me !  " 

Kex  would  perhaps  make  some  caustic,  nice  sort 
of  remark. 

Suddenly  now  he  spoke: 

"Happy,  Doro?" 

She  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"Why  do  you  ask?  Yes,  of  course." 

"'Fessup!" 

Then  he  guessed.  But  he  must  not. 

"  Did  I  sound  guilty?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  on  the  contrary,  only  very  happy." 

"I  can't  tell  you,  old  boy,"  Doro  said  quickly, 
her  hand  on  his  for  a  moment ;  "  directly  I  can  I 
will." 

He  nodded. 

"  All  right." 

The  car  swung  in  between  high  gates,  and  then 
sped  up  the  straight  avenue  to  the  house,  which 


184  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

gleamed  out  of  the  darkness  like  a  giant  Christmas 
tree,  with  its  myriad  lights  and  central  turreted 
tower  cut  in  a  dark  point  against  the  sky. 

A  moment  later  Rex  and  Doro  were  the  centre 
of  a  group  of  people,  all  laughing,  all  excited,  all 
young  and  at  one  with  life. 

Doro's  mood  met  theirs.  She  flamed  into  the 
midst  of  them  triumphantly,  to  be  acclaimed  in- 
stantly by  young  Richard  and  borne  away  to  "  try  " 
the  floor. 

The  band  had  just  come,  and  Eichard  asked  them 
to  play.  He  and  Doro  danced  alone  on  a  perfect 
floor  to  perfect  time. 

Doro  looked  over  Richard's  shoulder  to  see  Pan 
in  the  doorway,  and  as  their  glances  met,  that  sweet 
delight  raced  through  her  veins  which  she  felt 
always  now  under  his  touch,  his  look. 

A  hideous  bitterness  went  like  some  noxious,  suf- 
focating wave  over  Pan's  soul.  In  that  instant  he 
loved  Doro  and  hated  Rexford  with  the  same  savage 
intensity. 

He  had  not  loved  her  before,  she  had  been  such 
easy  winning ;  but  now  that  she  was  out  of  his  reach 
forever,  the  unattainable  became,  as  it  does  with  a 
certain  type  of  nature,  a  nature  which  has  been 
systematically  indulged,  for  ever  to  be  desired. 

At  home,  years  before,  as  a  little  boy,  it  had  been 
ordained  that  Pasquale  must  never  be  "  crossed," 
his  will  thwarted;  later  in  life  his  looks,  his  un- 
deniable charm  had  assisted  at  the  continuance  of 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  185 

this  regime,  whilst  Pasquale's  own  nature,  inclined 
to  headlong  wilfulness,  had  allowed  that  wilfulness 
to  degenerate  into  headlong  self-indulgence. 

To  be  baulked  by  a  man  like  Rexford,  a  thick  fool 
whose  only  weapon  was  the  chance  of  his  birth, 
which  gave  him  power.  .  .  . 

Pan  stared  at  Doro  and  Kichard,  dancing  to- 
gether so  lightly  that  they  seemed  to  float  over  the 
shining  floor.  The  vision  of  her  thus,  secure  in  the 
arms  of  this  stocky,  self-satisfied  youth,  intensified 
his  sick  resentment;  to  his  tortured  imagination  it 
was  as  if  Richard's  arms  were  a  conventional  barri- 
cade cutting  Doro  off  from  his  pursuit. 

A  resurgence  of  that  venomous  desire  for  revenge 
which  had  overwhelmed  him  after  his  interview 
with  Rexford  was  upon  him.  He  stood  staring  with 
half -dropped  lids  at  Doro,  intensely  aware  of  her, 
intent  on  making  her  equally  aware  of  him. 

He  saw  the  rose-colour  hesitate  in  her  face  as  she 
met  his  dark  glance,  and  as  the  music  stopped  she 
came  towards  him. 

"  Shall  we  dance,  too,  before  the  others  coine?  " 
she  asked  quickly. 

For  answer,  he  made  a  signal  to  the  band  and  put 
his  arm  round  her. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  so,  and  Pan  could  feel, 
under  his  hard  enclosing  arm,  Doro's  heart  beating 
frantically. 

He  knew  his  power,  and  at  that  instant  he  both 
hated  and  desired  her — hated  her  for  his  own  power- 


186  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

lessness  to  use  his  power,  and  desired  her  for  her 
loveliness,  the  promise  her  innocence  and  youth 
gave  of  a  wildly  sweet  surrender. 

It  is  possible  for  a  man  of  certain  intensely  selfish 
qualities  to  feel  the  enemy  of  the  woman  he  loves; 
that  feeling  held  Pan  now.  He  longed  to  exert  the 
power  he  dared  not,  in  order  to  win  back  for  him- 
self his  sense  of  sovereignty  and  to  humiliate 
Rexford. 

Passionately  he  longed  to  "get  at"  Tony — to 
wound  him  beyond  bearing  for  having  hurt  his 
pride,  lowered  him  in  his  own  esteem. 

Wounded  vanity  is  the  strongest  incentive  to 
baseness  that  exists ;  few  women  forgive  that  slight, 
even  fewer  men,  and  Pan  had  never  laid  claim  to 
any  form  of  God-head.  He  was  of  the  earth,  earthy, 
only,  he  would  have  declaimed  laughingly,  of  an 
exotic  earth. 

But  any  form  of  thraldom  very  quickly  strips  the 
polished  shell  of  conventional  cultivation  from  a 
man. 

Pan,  holding  Doro  in  an  almost  fierce  grip,  whis- 
pering words  to  her  which  were  like  perfume  upon  a 
flame,  had  lost  his  grip  on  the  smooth  realities  of 
life.  Passion  had  swung  him  far  out  from  his  nor- 
mal, indifferent  enjoyment;  his  hurt  pride  had 
swung  him  further  from  that  suave  acceptance  of 
life  of  which  he  made  languid  boast. 

It  was  as  if  he  had  been  swept  by  a  tempest  and 
the  old  landmarks  were  gone;  thoughts  he  would 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  187 

have  gibed  at  as  melodramatic,  cheaply  sentimental, 
thronged  his  mind  now. 

He  bent  his  head  until  his  lips  rested  on  Doro's 
shining  hair.  She  could  feel  his  breath  like  a  caress, 
and  she  shivered  a  little  in  his  arms.  That  look 
which  children  have  sometimes  of  utter  trust  and 
unquestioning  obedience  was  in  the  eyes  she  lifted 
to  his,  but  in  hers  it  was  mingled  with  clearest 
adoration — the  white  worship  of  a  dawn-time 
sacrifice.  .  .  . 

Pan  realized  his  moment,  the  gift  this  glance 
meant. 

He  struck  with  his  caress  of  passionate  words  at 
the  frail  barrier  of  Doro's  inexperience. 

"Every  pulse  in  my  body  cries  out  for  you — 
that's  how  I  love  you,"  he  said  very  low. 

It  was  the  first  love  speech  he  had  ever  made  to 
her,  and  under  the  spell  of  its  demand,  its  surren- 
der, its  intoxicating  meaning,  Doro  quivered;  she 
paled  to  intense  whiteness  beneath  his  glance.  Be- 
tween her  parted  lips  the  words,  "  I  love  you," 
seemed  to  flow  without  conscious  volition,  as  if, 
indeed,  they  were  the  utterance  of  her  soul  and 
beyond  the  control  of  bodily  expression. 

The  music  was  ending.  Pan  looked  into  the  eyes 
lifted  in  sweet  worship  to  his  own.  Once  such  utter 
compliance  with  his  will  would  have  irritated  him ; 
he  was  not  of  those  for  whom  the  best,  in  the  sense 
of  the  finest,  has  allure.  He  preferred  virtue  spiced, 


188  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

never  au  naturel;  but  for  the  moment  in  his  desire 
for  victory  he  welcomed  this  entire  submission. 

"Doro,"  he  whispered,  and  watched  her  eyes 
dilate  until  their  greenness  seemed  almost  golden 
round  the  black  pupils.  "  Doro,  in  case  we  do  not 
dance.  .  .  .  Yes,  Kexf  ord  saw  us  this  morning  .  .  . 
he  was — is — intensely  angry  .  .  .  will  you  meet  me 
at  one,  in  the  avenue?  I  will  wait  for  you  in  the 
shadow,  and  we  can  have  a  moment  together?  " 

He  released  her  as  the  music  stopped,  and  in- 
stantly Kichard  claimed  her. 

It  was  nearly  eleven ;  there  were  two  hours  to  be 
spent. 

He  went  into  the  bridge-room  and  joined  Tony, 
Pembroke  and  John  Colefax,  taking  a  malicious 
pleasure  in  spoiling  Rexford's  interest  in  the  game 
by  his  presence. 

They  played  high,  and  Pan  lost  persistently.  Of 
course,  Colefax,  who  was  a  bluff,  decent  sort  with 
his  useful  ideas,  the  management  of  his  place,  and 
a  knowledge  of  wine,  made  the  inevitable  remark : 

"She  spoils  you,  eh,  Greville?"  said  he  with  a 
wag  of  his  head. 

"  I'm  devilish  lucky,"  Pan  agreed  suavely,  watch- 
ing Rexford's  flushed,  hard  face. 

"  Good  as  all  that,"  Colefax  pursued,  grinning. 

From  the  ballroom  the  echo  of  the  music  came; 
it  was  twelve  o'clock. 

"Another  rubber?"  Rexford  suggested.  All 
agreed.  Half -past  twelve. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  189 

"  I  have  the  next  five  dances  booked,"  Pan  said. 
He  paid  his  losses  and  walked  away. 

He  felt  utterly  disinclined  to  go  into  the  ball- 
room, and  went  quickly  through  a  side  passage  to  a 
small  door  and  let  himself  out.  The  clear,  cold  air 
was  like  a  draught  of  champagne,  the  stars  points 
of  white  flame,  the  shadows,  cut  by  the  moonlight, 
so  dark  as  to  seem  ebon-black. 

A  sense  of  cruel  power  filled  Pan — an  overmas- 
tering desire  to  exert  that  power  to  its  fullest. 

The  weather  had  changed,  the  apple-green  sunset 
with  its  sliver  of  orange  fire  had  foretold  frost,  and 
already  the  ground  rang  iron-hard,  the  wind  cut 
sharply. 

Pan  felt  no  cold.  One  of  those  wildly  unreason- 
able, half -fantastic  moods  of  irrational  love  in  which 
a  lover  as  willingly  wounds  as  adores,  had  been  bred 
in  him  slowly  but  surely  by  the  events  of  the  last 
days. 

He  waited  without  anxiety,  his  mind  swept  first 
by  one  unreasoning  mood,  then  by  another.  There 
was  about  him  that  hardness  which  can  make  so 
much  misery  for  a  woman,  a  perverse  hardness, 
which  harboured  the  wish  to  let  a  wrong  rankle, 
which  would  enjoy  the  prolongation  of  another's 
unhappiness  because  it  would  minister  to  the  need 
of  his  pride,  and  which,  so  utterly  grotesque  was  it, 
could  include  a  sense  of  almost  savage  grudge 
against  the  very  being  whom  he  loved,  simply  be- 
cause, through  her,  he  himself  had  been  laid  open, 


190  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

by  the  discovery  of  his  love  for  her,  to  this  madden- 
ing defeat  by  Kexford. 

The  feeling,  senseless  as  it  was,  resembled  that 
experienced  sometimes  by  a  person  who  has  sus- 
tained an  accident  and  who  for  evermore  bears  a 
grudge  against  the  place  where  it  happened. 

It  is  wholly  silly  and  paltry,  as  is  all  resentment, 
the  reason  for  which  has  been  our  own  chosen 
action.  .  ,  . 

One  o'clock  struck  out  clearly,  almost  triumph- 
antly, and  at  that  instant  Pan  saw  Doro  emerge 
from  the  house,  a  shadowy  figure,  hesitant  for  an 
instant,  then  approaching  him  directly. 

To-morrow  might  be  Paris,  absence,  hell  for  all 
he  cared.  This  one  hour  of  the  night  was  his  to  do 
with  as  he  chose. 

Doro  was  beside  him,  in  his  arms,  their  lips  met, 
and  for  Doro  it  seemed  as  if  all  of  life,  until  the 
moment  Pan  had  loved  her,  had  only  existed  to 
ensure  the  miracle  of  this  kiss,  which  flamed 
through  her,  paled  in  its  passion,  flamed  again,  and 
swept  her  into  deathless  space  in  which  only  Pan's 
soul  and  hers  had  place,  which  swept  her  through 
whirling  circles  of  delight,  so  intense,  it  seemed, 
that  life  was  leaving  her,  that  feeling  so  one  could 
not  live — come  back  to  earth  again.  .  .  . 

In  reality,  she  drooped  in  Pan's  arms,  lay  faint- 
ing against  his  heart,  her  eyes  closed,  her  lips  pale 
for  all  their  kissed  passion,  her  heart  failing  her. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  191 

Pan  laughed  softly  above  the  white  blossom  of 
her  face,  his  arms  tightened  round  her. 

"  Aphrodite,  come  back  to  me.  ...  I  want  you 
— darling — speak  to  me — look  at  me " 

He  bent  his  head  and  began  to  whisper  between 
her  lips,  words  of  flame  which  should  relight  the 
eager  ardour  of  her  love,  stir  again  that  delicately 
wild  rapture  which  shook  her  in  his  embrace  like  a 
leaf  torn  by  a  spring  tempest. 

Doro  lay  still,  her  lashes  the  only  clear  colour  on 
her  face. 

Pan  leant  his  warm  cheek  to  hers. 

"  This  is  our  hour  before  the  dawn,  our  one  hour 
to  remember  always." 

Doro  stirred.  Those  words  pierced  the  enfolding 
veils  of  weary  ecstasy;  they  semeed  to  her  over- 
strung mind  to  hold  a  menace.  Her  eyes  opened, 
darkly  questioning. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  leave  me  .  .  .  to  go  away?  " 

Her  words  forced  Pan  against  some  explanation ; 
he  recognized  this  moment  to  be  propitious  to 
himself. 

He  said  swiftly : 

"  I  have  told  you  Eexford  has  been  very "  He 

gave  a  short,  angry  laugh;  even  in  this  hour  he 
could  not  stifle  his  resentment.  "  Rexford  has  been 
damnably  officious." 

"But — but  he  can't  separate  us?"  Doro  asked. 
"Why,  Pan — why  should  Tony  be  hard,  he  isn't 


192  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

usually.  Shall  I  tell  him?  Let  me;  I  know  I  could 
make  him  understand." 

The  irony  of  his  position  afforded  Pan  a  mo- 
ment's cheap  amusement,  but  it  brought  with  it  the 
realization  that  some  sufficiently  good  reason  must 
be  offered  Doro.  He  offered  the  sentimental  one 
which  never  fails  to  sweep  a  woman's  heart  strings 
when  she  loves  a  man. 

"  Eexford  thinks  I  am  too  old  for  you." 

He  was  sure  of  the  answering  cry,  but  such  reck- 
less, eager  denial  touched  him  a  little. 

"You  old?  You "  Doro  gave  a  little  derisive 

laugh,  a  real  laugh ;  she  could  afford  to  be  amused 
at  such  poor  criticism  of  her  god.  As  though  age 
could  touch  that  faultless  face,  the  thick,  thick  hair 
which  looked  so  crisp  in  the  sunlight  and  felt  so 
soft  to  touch. 

"  Seventeen — and  forty,"  Pan  murmured,  his  lips 
on  hers. 

But  even  for  kisses  Doro  could  not  listen  to  a 
hint  of  heresy. 

She  said  softly : 

"Eighteen  nearly,  darlingest!  And  let's  halve 
the  difference  of  our  ages  and  both  be  twenty-nine ; 
that's  a  good  age,  and  one  at  which  all  pretty  women 
stop,  G  says ! " 

Pan  laughed  a  little  strainedly.  He  had  no  wish 
for  this  mood  of  gaiety;  it  did  not  fit  into  the 
scheme  of  things  just  then. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  193 

He  chilled  Doro's  little  happiness  by  saying 
abruptly : 

"  Kexford  is  adamant  on  the  subject  of  my  love 
for  you.  So  that  our  happiness,  its  future,  lies  in 
your  hands." 

He  lifted  one  soft  drooping  arm,  and  kissed  it 
from  finger-tip  to  elbow,  his  lips  lingering  in  that 
white  warmness. 

"Ah,  darling,"  Doro  whispered,  kindling  to  his 
caress.  She  wound  her  white  arm  about  that  dark 
head  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  sweet  protection,  and 
drew  it  close  against  her  heart.  Pan  could  feel  the 
violent,  young  pulsation  against  his  cheek ;  it  roused 
in  him  a  quickening  of  his  own  heart,  a  swifter  fire 
beat  in  him  than  he  had  ever  felt. 

He  locked  his  arms  about  Doro,  and  heard  her 
give  a  little  startled  cry,  and  stifled  it  on  her  lips 
with  -his  own  pressed  hard  upon  them. 

All  his  scheming,  his  plan  to  outwit  Kexford,  to 
tread  him  underfoot,  fled  from  him  in  this  moment ; 
he  was,  for  the  time  being,  a  lover  in  every  fibre; 
discreet  emotion,  which  could  be  weighed,  which 
was  to  have  fashioned  a  weapon  wherewith  to  attain 
his  pride's  satisfaction,  had  been  swept  away.  He 
only  knew  Doro  was  in  his  arms,  all  her  soft  grace 
crushed  against  him.  The  perfume  of  her  hair,  her 
skin  was  like  a  sweetly  maddening  drug  to  his 
senses;  in  her  lips  there  seemed  to  be  a  magic 
potion,  which  he  drank  and  drank  and  which  filled 
him  with  delirious  passion. 


194  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Words  of  love  burnt  Mm  as  he  thought  them ;  he 
said  brokenly  between  his  ravening  kisses : 

"  Mine — mine,  Doro — Aphrodite — I  am  at  your 
feet  —  worshipping  you  —  worshipping  you  —  this 
once — this  once — before  I  go.  I  am  at  the  gates  of 
Paradise — Aphrodite,  can  you  not  hear  my  implora- 
tion?  Ah,  if  you  loved  me — if  you  loved  me  as  I 
love  you,  you  could  deny  me  nothing.  ..." 

At  that  reproach  which  love  can  never  hear  un- 
shaken, Doro  gave  a  little  wounded  cry ;  she  could 
speak  no  words.  The  thrall  of  utter  passion,  first, 
whitest,  most  utterly  consuming,  was  on  her,  and 
she  had  a  vision  of  Pan's  face,  his  eyes  like  dark 
flames;  his  vivid  face  seemed  to  her  to  bear  some 
mystic  imprint.  The  wildness  of  his  kisses  had 
loosened  her  hair;  one  strand,  warm  and  fragrant 
like  a  flower  the  sun  has  caressed,  slid  between  his 
lips  and  hers. 

He  bound  it  about  his  throat,  a  living  bond  hold- 
ing one  to  the  other ;  and  that  action  alone,  the  fact 
he  could  do  such  a  thing,  he,  who  sneered  at  every 
least  deviation  from  the  accepted  code,  even  in  his 
affairs  of  love,  signalized  the  utter  sway  of  the 
moment  upon  him. 

They  stood  in  the  enshrouding  darkness,  as  lovers 
have  stood  for  all  time,  immortalized  by  this  instant 
of  sheer  worship,  touched  by  youth  eternal.  .  .  . 

To  Doro  this  moment  seemed  unreal ;  the  place, 
she  was,  and  was  not,  this  trembling  being  clasped 
to  her  lover  by  a  strand  of  soft  bright  hair.  Pan 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  195 

was  no  earthly  lover,  but  love  itself,  the  one  mystic, 
divine  power  which  gave  happiness,  and  ah!  such 
passionate  delight,  a  feeling  so  intense  it  exhausted 
whilst  it  exalted.  .  .  . 

Little  broken  words,  incoherent,  helpless,  fell 
between  them.  "  Kiss  me.  Ah,  you  do — you  do — 

don't  you — my  beautiful — my  love -"  And  again 

and  again  that  reiteration  which  lover  seeks  from 
lover  and  never  hears  enough,  "  my  own." 

A  clock  chimed,  a  bird  stirred  and  called  sleepily. 
"  Doro,"  Pan  pleaded,  whispering,  "  I  am  going 
to  drive  you  home— now.  We  shall  be  alone — you 
and  I — you  and  I.  Wait  here." 

He  ran  from  her  arms  across  the  white-lit  patch 
into  the  shadow  again;  she  heard  his  light  steps 
grow  fainter,  cease. 

It  seemed  so  strange  to  be  alone  here,  a  roof  of 
slenderest  sable  tracery  overhead,  through  which, 
like  jewels,  the  stars  shone.  She  felt  cut  off  from 
the  world,  as  if  she  had  escaped  beyond  it. 

From  the  house  the  sound  of  the  music  floated 
on  the  still,  cold  afr;  it  seemed  to  mingle  with  the 
sweet  confusion  of  her  brain,  to  sway  to  the  rhythm 
of  those  passionately  dear  words,  "  My  own — my 
beautiful,"  and  the  little  tender  homeliness,  "  My 
darling." 

A  car  slid  into  sight,  stopped.  Pan  drew  her  in, 
wrapped  her  in  furs,  had  her  close  to  him  by  one 
arm,  and  drove  recklessly  forward  with  his  free 
hand. 


196  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

All  of  her  thrilled  to  this  new  contact.  Her  shoul- 
der was  against  Pan's,  his  arm  drew  her  ever 
nearer;  they  rushed  through  the  night,  and  it 
seemed,  too,  to  open  its  arms  to  them  and  call, 
"  Come — come." 

Pan  stopped  the  car  for  a  moment,  and  bent  above 
her. 

"  I  must " 

And  he  drank  the  kisses  from  her  young  mouth 
as  a  traveller  drinks  in  the  desert  after  long  wan- 
dering. 

"  Ah !  to  have  you  wholly  in  my  arms — t his  way." 
He  touched  the  thick  fur  robe. 

Ah,  to  lie  in  his  arms,  so  close.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XII 

"No  coward  may  accept  ease  bravely." — TACITUS. 

ON    the    terrace    Rex    lit    a    cigarette,    then 
listened. 

Someone  had  started  up  a  car.    He  lis- 
tened more  intently. 

His  car  surely?  And  equally  surely,  running 
swiftly  now? 

He  had  a  very  boyish  love  indeed,  a  most  ex- 
clusive and  unassailable  love  and  knowledge  of  his 
car. 

He  had  really  come  out  to  look  for  Doro — and 
Pan ;  but  now  he  limped  away  towards  the  stable- 
yard  where  the  cars  had  all  been  parked.  Their 
own  man,  who  had  driven  in  Rexford,  Pembroke 
and  Pan,  was  looking  beyond  the  gate. 

"  Did  you  start  up  the  car?  "  Rex  asked. 

"  No,  sir,  Mr.  Greville's  took  it,  sir,  and  then  he 
picked  up  Miss  Doro." 

"  Where's  he  gone?  "  Rex  said  quietly.  "  Which 
road?  " 

"  Rexworth,  sir ;  going  >ome,  I  think,  sir." 

"  I  see,"  Rex  nodded.  "  All  right." 

He  walked  away  at  an  even  pace  until  he  was  out 
of  sight,  then  he  began  to  run ;  he  ran  almost  well, 

197 


198  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

he  had  practised  for  years ;  now  he  started  at  a  fair 
pace. 

His  thoughts  kept  time  to  his  speed. 

"  Through  the  beech  wood,  then  the  cut  across  the 
stream,  then  the  long  meadow — down  it,  it  was  long 
too — then  the  home  hill,  down  it — and  then " 

He  was  quite  aware  why  he  was  going,  but  his 
supposition  happened  to  be  incorrect;  he  believed 
(Pembroke  had  been  fairly  explicit  in  his  descrip- 
tion of  his  father's  attitude  towards  Pan  and  its 
reason)  that  Pan  and  Doro  meant  to  leave  Hurst- 
point  together  that  night;  he  had  heard  of  his 
father's  ultimatum  to  Pan. 

Neither  Pembroke  nor  his  father  nor  any  of  the 
hunting  men  who  frequented  the  house  had  ever 
troubled  to  restrain  the  expression  of  their  outlook 
on  certain  aspects  of  life,  nor  restricted  their 
opinion  concerning  various  people  whom  they  hap- 
pened to  discuss. 

Hex,  at  sixteen,  had  a  man's  judgment  on  certain 
matters,  coupled  with  a  cool,  unfeigned  indifference 
to  the  point  at  issue :  simply,  the  moral  or  immoral 
aspect  of  certain  episodes  did  not  interest  him. 

He  had  listened  to  Pan's  conversation  sometimes 
when  he  had  chanced  to  be  in  the  smoking-room,  too, 
after  dinner,  or  playing  billiards  with  his  father. 

He  was  quite  interested  in  one  affair,  however, 
and  moreover  he  had  warm  and  decided  views  on 
it ;  Pan  should  not  hurt  Doro,  if  he  could  prevent  it. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  199 

Quite  boyishly  now  he  thought,  as  he  panted  over 
the  crackling  heather : 

"  Why,  the  chap's  old! " 

He  was  amazingly  hot;  it  was  heavy  going  in 
pumps,  which  gave  his  bad  foot  no  support,  but  he 
did  not  think  of  resting. 

"  Like  a  modern  film,"  he  grinned  to  himself.  "  G 
will  be  enormously  amused  when  I  tell  her ! " 

He  had  reached  the  park;  he  cut  across  it 
obliquely,  the  going  was  easier  here. 

His  car  stood  before  the  door. 

"  Damn  cheek,"  he  murmured,  registering  an- 
other cause  of  dislike  of  Greville. 

He  went  in  by  a  side  door,  the  house  seemed 
deserted;  then  he  remembered  all  the  servants  had 
gone  to  a  dance  in  the  village. 

He  looked  in  the  music-room ;  a  fire  glowed  there 
dully;  no  one  there;  he  drew  a  blank,  too,  in  the 
morning-room. 

Hesitant,  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs ;  Doro 
and  he  shared  a  sitting-room  opening  out  of  the 
gallery  which  was  on  the  first  landing,  and  then 
higher  up  were  their  own  rooms,  to  which  lately 
they  had  chosen  to  add  each  one  other  room. 

He  limped  upstairs  and  whistled  the  old  whistle 
Doro  and  he  had  always  used. 

He  waited — utter  silence ;  below  in  the  big  hall  a 
coal  fell  with  a  little  soft  crash. 

Silence  again. 

Then  Doro's  voice,  Doro  at  the  door  of  their  sit- 


200  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

ting-room,  a  fur  robe  trailing  about  her. 

"Hullo,  Kex!" 

"Hullo,  Doro!"  he  laughed.  "How  long  have 
you  been  in?  " 

"  A — oh !  very  few  minutes." 

"Were  you  tired?  I'd  have  driven  you  home.  I 
see  " — his  voice  unconsciously  held  a  note  of  resent- 
ment— "  I  see  the  Lancia's  home.  Pan  drive  her?  " 

"  Yes." 

Doro  still  stood  in  the  doorway.  Eex,  looking  at 
her  more  closely,  moving  forward,  noticed  how 
white  she  looked. 

"  You  look  pretty  cheap,"  he  said  with  very  young 
candour;  "we'll  have  something  to  drink.  I'll  get 
it  for  you.  You  look  as  if  you  ought  to.  We've  got 
nearly  all  that  cognac  father  sent  up  to  the  sitting- 
room  for  a  rag  months  ago.  Better  have  some  of 
that." 

He  was  at  the  door ;  Doro  stepped  back.  Pan,  lift- 
ing his  dark  head  from  a  chair  where  he  was  rest- 
ing before  the  fire,  said  with  a  yawn : 

"  I'll  have  some  too,  Eex." 

Kex  made  no  answer;  he  limped  across  to  their 
cache,  as  Doro  and  he  had  christened  the  cupboard 
ages  before,  and  stooped  to  unlock  it  with  a  key  he 
carried. 

Pan,  his  nerves  literally  quivering  with  sup- 
pressed rage,  with  a  loathing  of  this  boy  who  had 
followed  them,  chose  to  feel  Bex's  attitude  an  im- 
pertinence. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  201 

"  Did  you  hear  what  I  said?  "  he  shot  at  Kex. 

Kex  straightened  up. 

"  Easily,"  he  assured  him  with  an  ironic  suave- 
ness. 

In  Pan's  temple  a  pulse  drummed  and  drummed ; 
he  had  attained  nothing — absolutely  nothing.  His 
chance  was  gone — torn  from  him  by  this  damned 
sneaking  little  spy  whom  of  course  Rexford  had 
instructed. 

He  got  out  of  the  big  chair  very  slowly  and 
crossed  towards  Rex.  The  sight  of  him — cool,  his 
air  of  self-possession,  his  very  youth — struck  a  fury 
to  life  in  himself ;  as  lightning  can  cleave  a  rock  and 
destroy  it,  so  now  his  mad  rage,  the  outcome  of  the 
day's  humiliation,  passion,  defeat,  cleft  his  reason. 
A  mist  passed  before  his  eyes,  his  face  was  a  little 
distorted. 

"  Your  manners  don't  appeal  to  me,"  he  managed 
to  articulate. 

Rex  did  not  look  at  him.  He  said  perfunctorily : 

"  Sorry ! "  And  then  with  more  courtesy,  "  A 
drink?" 

Pan  mastered  himself  with  an  effort  which 
drained  him  of  strength  for  the  moment. 

He  nodded. 

Doro  had  gone  to  take  off  her  cloak.  Rex  set  the 
syphon  on  the  table,  and  poured  out  some  brandy. 
Pan  came  nearer;  Rex's  hand  on  the  syphon  lever 
slipped,  a  stream  of  soda  water  drenched  Pan's  coat 
sleeve. 


202  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Rex  gave  a  little  spluttering  laugh,  exactly  the 
laugh  a  boy  does  give  under  such  circumstances — 
inoffensive,  genuinely  amused.  He  checked  it  very 
quickly,  and  gave  a  swift  glance  at  Pan's  face,  prof- 
fering his  handkerchief. 

"  Dash  thing  swerved !  "  he  murmured,  his  hand 
still  outstretched. 

Even  then  he  had  no  faintest  idea  Pan  meant  to 
strike  him.  He  saw  his  lifted  arm ;  it  conveyed  no 
menace  to  him.  Then  Pan's  clenched  hand  de- 
scended on  his  wrist  with  a  hammer-blow. 

"  God  damn  you,  you  mis-shapen,  sniggering  little 
spy ! "  Pan  sobbed  at  him. 

Eex  paled  slowly  as  he  listened ;  the  handkerchief 
fell  from  his  fingers  as  he  doubled  them  slowrly  into 
his  palms. 

"  And  God  damn  you !  "  he  said  in  a  whisper,  his 
lips  lifted  above  his  teeth  which  gleamed  whitely 
as  his  eyes  gleamed,  fixed  in  a  stare  of  hatred  upon 
Pan's  livid  face. 

Doro's  step  sounded  near. 

Rex  swallowed  visibly;  with  a  hard  choking 
sound,  he  said,  running  the  words  a  little  together : 

"  I  can't — after  all,  you're  my  guest  till  to-mor- 
row, when  you've  got  to  go,  thank  God!  Listen, 
Greville,  I  hate  you!  Do  you  hear?  And  one  day 
I'll  make  you  pay  for  this." 

Doro  came  into  the  room;  in  silence  Rex  gave 
her  a  glass. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  203 

The  noise  of  the  others  returning  was  audible. 
He  limped  down  to  meet  them. 

"  Greville,  Doro  and  I  are  in  the  sitting-room," 
he  said  a  little  stiffly ;  "  there's  a  topping  fire  there." 

His  father  said: 

"  You  three  came  back  early?  " 

"  Yes.   Greville  drove  my  car." 

A  look  of  relief  crossed  Tony's  face;  he  had  had 
a  hideous  presentiment  at  the  Colefaxes'  that  Pan 
would  dupe  him. 

"  We'll  come  up,"  he  said. 

"  I  think  I'll  turn  in,"  Rex  volunteered.  "  Say 
good  night  to  the  others,  Greville  and  Doro." 

He  never  again  called  Greville  other  than  by  his 
name ;  he  went  to  his  room  and  bathed  his  wrist ;  it 
was  badly  swollen,  a  little  discoloured. 

A  slow  but  vivid  colour  crept  into  his  face  and 
stayed  there,  a  brilliant  spot  on  either  cheek. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

This  is  the  last  one  rose  that's  left; 

This  rose  I  send,  although  my  empty  garden 

Lies  bereft,  where  bare  boughs  bend. 

As  I  have  given  my  rest,  my  best, 

My  fairest  and  my  costliest, 

All  that  I  had,  or  was,  or  could,  or  knew, 

For  you/' 

UT  why  has  Pan  gone?  "  Doro  asked. 

"He  was  wired  for,  a  Paris  wire,  busi- 
ness," Tony  said  curtly. 

"  But — but  he  never  said  good-bye ! " 

"  Why  on  earth  should  he? "  Tony  exploded. 
"  Good  Lord,  his  departures  and  arrivals  are  not 
matters  of  state,  are  they?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  Doro  said,  that  little  piteous 
note  in  her  voice. 

"  Go  and  change  and  ride  round  with  me,"  Tony 
suggested.  "  I'll  wait  for  you." 

Doro  went  obediently;  as  well  ride  round  as  sit 
alone — or  do  anything  else — now  Pan  had  gone. 

She  let  Emilia  help  her  into  her  riding  kit  in 
silence ;  the  news  of  Pan's  departure  seemed  to  have 
stunned  her;  there  seemed  now  nothing  left  to  do 
or  say.  It  was  a  steel-blue  day,  the  ground  battened 
down,  ridged  with  hard  bars  where  the  frost  could 

204 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  205 

grip  it  flat,  the  sky  like  an  iron  plate,  a  forbidding 
day,  no  cheer  or  hope  in  it. 

The  horses  were  restive;  Doro's  mare  needed 
handling. 

"  Where's  Rex?  "  Tony  shot  at  her. 

"  Indoors ;  he's  hurt  his  wrist,  somehow." 

"Always  got  something,"  Tony  muttered. 

Doro,  usually  so  eager  a  champion,  said  nothing ; 
they  rode  in  utter  silence. 

From  time  to  time  Tony  glanced  at  her;  a  dull 
ache  was  in  his  heart,  and,  as  well,  most  conflicting 
emotions,  a  very  lively  hatred  of  Pan.  But  girls 
got  over  things,  of  course ;  Doro  would.  It  was  early 
days  to  expect  her  to  have  forgotten  entirely,  come 
to  think  of  it! 

And  as  they  rode  the  horses'  hoofs  beat  out  to 
Doro :  "  Pan  has  gone — Pan  has  gone." 

Only  yesterday  they  had  walked  together  in  the 
sunshine,  and  everything  had  seemed  so  wonderful, 
and  as  if  it  would  never  end — could  not. 

And  with  that  thought  a  little  warmth  of  com- 
fort grew  in  her  heart. 

Pan  would  write — Pan  would  come  back.  .   .   . 

There  was  no  doubt  in  her  heart.  Only  something 
very  imperative  could  have  called  him  from  her 
now.  Ah!  how  could  she  harbour  one  smallest 
thought  of  doubt — remembering?  And  with  those 
memories  her  face  paled  and  flushed  like  scarlet 
and  white  roses  in  the  dawn.  And  oh,  and  oh !  his 
coming  back,  how  wonderful  it  would  be ! 


206  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

She  could  not  bear  not  to  ask  one  question : 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  very  long  before  Pan 
comes  back?  " 

She  saw  Tony's  dark  face  twitch;  he  looked  at 
her  very  straightly,  and  said  hardly: 

"  All  I  can  tell  you  is  he's  gone." 

"  I — I  had  grasped  that,"  Doro  ventured  with  a 
pathetic  attempt  at  gay  satire. 

For  the  nth  time  Tony  was  fighting  over  the  ques- 
tion :  "  Should  he  tell  Doro  the  whole  truth  or 
not?  " 

Pembroke  had  advised  "  decidedly  not." 

"  Do  no  good,"  he  had  said  sapiently ;  "  only  make 
the  child  feel  he's  ill-treated,  having  no  pay.  Girls 
find  it  more  romantic  for  a  lover  to  be  penniless. 
God  knows  why !  Anyway,  they  don't  think  so  after 
marriage!  But  provide  a  girl  with  a  few  good 
obstacles  to  surmount,  and  begad,  Tony,  she's  off  to 
get  over  'em  before  you  can  say  Jack  Robinson! 
No,  no,  my  lad ;  you  lie  low  and  say  nuffin' ;  '  least 
said  soonest  mended ' ;  and  silence  is  never  so  golden 
as  when  it's  a  real  asset.  Don't  go  giving  Doro  any 
details  to  hang  pity  or  hero  worship  on.  Let  her 
stay  as  she  is,  and  stand  clear  yourself.  Once  let  her 
think  she's  ill  used  or  he  is,  and  there'll  be  the 
devil  to  pay.  I  know  women !  " 

Tony  had  found  this  sound  advice  in  the  smoking 
room  at  three  o'clock  in  the  early  morning;  but 
somehow,  under  the  hard  glare  of  noon  which 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  207 

showed  Doro's  face  to  be  pitiful  and  tired,  he  was 
not  so  certain  he  approved  it. 

But,  after  all,  what  could  he  say  to  Doro?  If  he 
said  anything,  he  must  seem  to  know  everything. 

Whereas,  if  he  did  not  speak,  he  spared  Doro's 
forced  confidence.  He  decided  to  keep  silencv 

They  stopped  for  lunch  at  G's. 

"  Delightful  of  you,"  she  said,  welcoming  them 
warmly,  "and  where's  Hex?" 

Once  more  the  story  of  a  hurt  wrist. 

G  made  no  comment.  She  never  offered  comment 
on  any  illness  Hex  had ;  but  she  would  far  rather 
have  had  each  one  herself. 

They  lunched  at  a  little  round  table,  on  which 
G's  first  hyacinths  bloomed. 

"Heavenly  perfume,"  G  said;  "only,  only  as  a 
flower — as  a  scent — N.B.G.,  as  Rex  says !  Doro,  my 
dear,  a  propos  of  perfume,  remember  this,  there  are 
three  things  a  woman,  to  have  charm,  must  culti- 
vate, but  use  very  delicately ;  they  all  begin  with  the 
same  letter,  and  are  perfume,  passion,  and  percep- 
tion! A  right  and  judicious  adaptability  of  one's 
life  and  emotions  in  these  three  instances,  and  a 
woman  should  go  far !  " 

"  Some  go  a  good  way  without  the  last  quality," 
Tony  said. 

"  Too  far,  the  wrong  sort,"  G  retorted  crisply. 

Doro  was  conscious  of  a  great  fatigue;  G's  con- 
versation, Tony's,  seemed  aimless.  She  was  thank- 
ful when  they  could  ride  home. 


208  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

At  home  at  least  she  could  sit  in  her  room  and 
remember. 

The  days  of  memory  began,  the  nights  when  one 
thinks  back  and  back,  and  re-creates  the  shining 
hours,  and  in  imagination  kisses  and  is  kissed  again. 

The  first  few  days  were  a  torment  waiting  for  the 
letter  which  should  have  come — and  did  not. 

Casually,  then,  Tony  mentioned  Pan  had  gone  to 
India. 

Of  course,  letters  took  a  long  while  from  there. 

Doro,  who  had  never  studied  geography  much, 
pored  over  maps  now. 

A  month  passed,  two ;  no  letter  came. 

Of  course,  it  would  come;  she  would  find  it  on 
her  tray  one  morning.  .  .  . 

Frantically  she  "willed"  Pan  to  write.  Her 
faith  did  not  falter  yet ;  she  thrust  each  doubt  away 
from  her  with  passion.  Spring  came,  and  with  it  a 
recrudescence  of  all  the  old  longing  which  was  so 
headlong,  which  held  her  so  helpless  a  victim. 

"  Oh,  Pan,  Pan,  to  be  close  in  your  arms  again, 
to  be  kissed  once  more.  ..." 

The  soft  sweet  nights  with  their  drooping  winds 
and  thousand  fragrances  of  tender  growing  things 
became  a  torture. 

Doro  grew  thin.  The  gorgeous  greenness  of  her 
eyes  was  shadowed  by  the  rings  round  them,  as  if 
wet  violets  had  been  pressed  there  and  left  their 
faint  imprint. 

Still  she  believed — she  had  to  believe;  she  was 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  209 

too  young  not  to.  There  was  no  end  to  love,  there 
could  not  be  if  it  was  love ;  and  if  those  kisses,  those 
words,  had  not  sprung  from  love,  then  all  the  world 
was  false. 

She  slept  very  badly,  scarcely  at  all  on  some 
nights ;  a  desolate  longing  took  the  place  of  kindly, 
effacing  sleep. 

She  used  to  lie  in  the  window  seat,  her  face  to 
the  stars,  and  think  back.  Each  night  held  one  hope : 
to-morrow  was  near,  it  might  bring  a  letter. 

The  almond-blossom  in  the  avenue  Francesca  had 
planted  behind  the  rose  garden  burst  into  soft  lovely 
flame  quite  suddenly. 

Kex  came  to  tell  Doro  of  it,  his  eyes  shining  with 
delight. 

"It's  heavenly !  "  he  said.  "Come  on,  Doro ;  you'll 
adore  it." 

It  was  a  morning  of  brilliant  vividness,  when 
every  leaf  shone  emerald  and  the  sky  was  sheerly 
blue  with  densest  white  clouds,  which  sped  across 
it  as  if  playing. 

Against  the  blueness  and  the  whiteness  the 
almond-blossom  shone  in  a  glory  of  keen  rose, 
startlingly  beautiful,  so  lovely,  one's  breath  was 
caught. 

"  Stand  here,"  Rex  said,  "  just  here." 

He  guided  her  until  she  stood  in  the  centre  of 
the  grassy  space  between  the  trees. 

"  Now  look  straight  down  the  avenue." 

It  was  like  looking  into  the  heart  of  a  rose. 


210  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

And  at  the  sight  of  that  sweet  loveliness  Doro's 
grief  came  back  upon  her  intolerably.  The  laughing 
beauty  of  the  day  was  like  a  blow  upon  an  open 
wound;  it  was  all  so  happy,  she  herself  so  utterly 
forlorn. 

She  turned  to  Kex  and  looked  at  him. 

He  met  her  glance  with  a  strange  gravity ;  he  did 
not  ask  boyishly,  or  even  with  that  curiosity  which 
so  many  people  feel,  or  would  have  felt,  "  What  is 
it?" 

He  did  not  speak  at  all  for  a  little  while,  and  then 
he  said :  "  It's  a  little  blinding,  all  this  riot  of 
colour."  He  slid  a  hand  into  her  arm,  walking  back. 
At  the  house  they  separated. 

In  the  night  a  sleet  storm  fell.  Doro  listened  to 
it.  When  it  was  over  she  crept  out.  Her  windows 
had  had  to  be  shut ;  the  air  felt  close. 

She  found  herself  suddenly,  so  it  seemed  to  her, 
in  a  part  of  the  gardens  she  did  not  recognize.  She 
looked  with  weary  bewilderment  at  the  line  of 
stripped,  shivering  trees  before  hep. 

But  surely  behind  her  was  the  rose  garden?  These 
trees  had  been  the  almond-blossom  glory!  She 
looked  up;  a  few  ghostly  petals  clung  to  bare 
branches.  One  fluttered  down,  like  a  pale  tear 
falling. 


BOOK  II 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"//  vaut  mieux  se  taire  que  de  dire  hors  de  temps  des 
choses  trop  tendres" — STENDHAL. 

f  4  y^l  HANGE  'ud  be  a  good  thing,"  Tony  said. 
I.  "  What  d'you  think,  G?  " 

"  I  thought  so  nearly  three  years  ago," 
G  returned  vigorously,  "  and  was  told  that  Doro 
refused  to  entertain  the  idea.  Naturally  she  would 
do  so,  it  being  for  her  good,  and  she  young  enough 
to  know  worse,  as,  again,  I  pointed  out  at  the  time." 

"Well,  it's  got  to  be  now,"  Tony  announced 
gloomily.  "  Place's  like  a  morgue — Pembroke  gone, 
Hex  away,  the  child  and  I  alone.  When  she's  not 
huntin'  she's  practising  and  when  she's  doin'  neither 
she's  silent." 

He  himself  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  he 
burst  out: 

"  Damn  Pasquale." 

"Yes,  but  less  loudly;  a  quiet  damn  is  equally 
efficacious ! " 

Tony  slewed  round  his  face  and  stared  at  her 
intently : 

"  G,  d'you  think  she  cares  still?  " 

G  gave  a  little  sigh.  Her  restless  fingers,  slender 
and  straight  still,  loaded  with  rings,  went  on  tap- 
ping the  top  of  her  ebony  stick. 

213 


214  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"Youth  is  so  unjudgable,"  she  said  at  length. 
"  You  ask  me  if  Doro  still  cares  for  Pan?  My  dear, 
I  think  yes,  but  not,  of  course,  as  she  did ;  that,  at 
her  age,  would  be  impossible.  Not  even  eighteen  to 
twenty  can  live  at  fever  heat,  but,  just  because  of 
those  eighteen  to  twenty  years,  she  does  still.  But 
he  is  not  Pan  now ;  he  is  an  altar,  I  suspect,  where 
no  flowers  bloom,  a  memory  with  a  flame  behind  it, 
shining  through  and  obscuring  the  real  vision  from 
the  devotee.  Youth  never  remembers,  but  it  also 
never  forgets!  There  is  a  difference,  you  know. 
Youth  manages  so  ably  to  discard  any  memory  it 
does  not  care  for,  whilst  clinging  with  devilish 
obstinacy  to  the  main  fact;  youth  concentrates  so 
mistakenly,  and  believes  in  '  never '  and  '  ever '  as  if 
they  were  truth,  and  not  a  sentimental  paradox !  So 
give  her  change,  my  dear ;  let  her  rip !  She's  lovely, 
lovable,  and  alive;  she'll  do  it  all  right.  We  have 
been  fools  to  trust  to  the  help  of  time.  Time  seldom 
does  much  for  any  real  lovers,  save  make  'em  pleased 
with  themselves  for  being  faithful !  Get  Doro  out  of 
the  rut;  let  her  meet  a  few  men  whose  names  are 
neither  Colefax  nor  Okehampton,  nor  any  other 
name  of  the  good  and  worthy  round  about,  and  we 
shall  see  things  move — Doro  move,  at  any  rate,  I 
hope.  Music  and  hunting  are  all  very  well  when 
you're  married,  as  a  respite,  but  as  life  objects — 
no!" 

"  Hermione'll  have  her,"  Tony  stated  morosely, 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  215 

alluding  to  his  own  sister  in  much  the  voice  in 
which  one  discusses  a  calamity. 

"  Then  that's  that,"  G  commented. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Doro's  voice  could  be 
heard  from  the  music-room ;  she  was  singing  a  song 
by  Hahn. 

Tony  groaned  a  little. 

"  Always  that  modern  no-words-on-a-tune  sort  of 
stuff,"  he  said  irascibly.  "  Why  on  earth  Doro  can't 
sing  a  decent  ballad,  a  song  you  can  follow,  God 
knows." 

"Ah!  but  it's  beautiful,"  G  said  softly. 
"Listen!" 

Tony  listened,  wearing  that  expression  common 
to  the  uninitiated  who  have  bought  a  good  thing 
for  vast  sums,  grudge  the  outlay,  but  enjoy  hearing 
it  praised,  receiving  thereby  a  faint  sense  of  return 
for  their  expenditure. 

Doro  sang  on,  and  if  she  had  sung  music-hall 
doggerel  her  voice  would  have  made  it  beautiful. 

When  she  stopped  singing  it  was  as  if  a  sense  of 
loss  were  instinct. 

She  came  down  the  wide  stairs  a  little  later. 

"  Hallo,  you  two !  "  she  said. 

Even  her  speaking  voice  had  changed;  it  had 
become  much  softer,  and  had  certain  charming,  very 
personal  intonations ;  odd  words  she  said  somehow 
quite  differently  from  anyone  else. 

She  stood  gazing  out  of  the  window  at  the  spring 


216  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

morning,  and  into  G's  mind  there  came  the  thought : 
"  Ah  me !  how  lovely  loveliness  is ! " 

Doro  had  it  unquestionably  and  quite  unmistak- 
ably ;  she  had  it  in  her  colouring,  which  was  deep 
rose,  in  the  glowing  light  of  her  hair,  which  was  no 
distinct  tint,  but  yet  gave  an  impression  of  quick 
warmth  from  its  thick  depths,  and  dominating  all 
else,  she  had  loveliness  in  her  eyes — jasmine  eyes,  as 
Bex  had  called  them  not  inaptly  once,  when,  look- 
ing at  them,  he  had  seen  the  reflection  of  white  light 
in  either,  like  a  star,  or  jasmine  flower  amongst  its 
leaves. 

Green  eyes  are  often  talked  about,  and  extremely 
seldom  seen,  or  they  are  called  green  and  discovered 
to  be  hazel ;  but  Doro's  eyes  were  green  in  the  clear 
light  as  waterpools,  and  in  the  shadow  as  jasmine 
foliage. 

But  she  no  longer  laughed  with  them,  though  she 
laughed  often. 

G  had  noticed  that  and  deplored  it,  and  Doro's 
too  evident  slightness  as  well. 

"  We  must  get  her  away,"  she  had  told  herself ; 
"suppressed  temperament  is  the  deuce  an'  all  at 
twenty-one ! " 

She  said  now,  still  surveying  Doro  urbanely : 

"My  dear,  you  are  going  to  do  a  season  with 
Hermione  Lascelles." 

Doro  turned  round. 

"  Do  I  want  to  do  a  season  with  Hermione 
Lascelles?  "  she  enquired. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  217 

"Enormously — as  you  have  to,  anyway,"  G  sug- 
gested. "  You  start  to-morrow." 

"  I  am  disposed  of  then,"  Doro  murmured,  her 
eyes  on  Tony. 

"  Your  aunt  thinks  it  best,"  he  said  hastily. 

A  little  to  both  their  surprise,  Doro  said 
languidly : 

"  Oh,  very  well,  perhaps  it  will  be  fun ! "  and 
sauntered  to  the  door. 

G  said  at  length : 

"  The  spring,  my  dear  Tony,  its  usual  influence, 
either  abandon  or  sweet  depression!  Berkeley 
Square  will  be  a  good  tonic  for  that,  take  my  word 
for  it." 

"  I  hope  so,"  Tony  said  disconsolately ;  he  had 
expected  some  slight  passage  at  arms  which  should 
have  given  him  an  opportunity  to  exert  his 
authority,  or,  at  least,  suggest  that  he  had  the  power 
to  do  so,  and  behold !  quiescence  had  robbed  him  of 
the  chance  of  exploiting  what  he  knew  he  had  not 
and  had  therefore  longed  to  pretend  he  had. 

Some  of  life's  hardest  moments  are  those  when 
we  realize  that  other  people  have  long  (and  care- 
lessly) known  the  weakness  we  believed  only  we 
ourselves  suspected ! 

He  walked  out  when  G  had  left,  and  cursed  Pan 
in  the  gardens. 

There  was,  deep  in  his  heart,  a  strange,  but  not 
bitter  jealousy  of  Pan.  Pan  had  taken  Doro  from 
him  as  surely  as  if  he  had  carried  her  bodily  away, 


218  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

for  Doro  liad  never  been  the  Doro  of  Tony's  life 
after  that  one  brief  winter.  She  and  he  had  dis- 
cussed nothing;  sometimes,  hearing  from  Pan, 
whose  extravagances  had  been  tediously  recurrent 
through  the  years,  that  he  was  at  Bucharest,  or 
Biarritz,  or  Berlin,  or  any  other  place  where  gaiety 
and  women  were,  he  had  mentioned  this  fact  openly, 
but  no  one  had  ever  offered  any  comment. 

Pan  had  had  a  great  victory  had  he  known  it  by 
making  Doro  love  him;  he  had  left  Tony's  life 
empty. 

Doro  had  never  "  come  back."  Tony  thought  of 
it  like  that,  not  in  three  years  even. 

It  was  as  if,  over  the  happy  gaiety  and  frankness, 
a  film  of  frost  rested ;  you  never  felt  quite  at  ease. 

Tony  sighed  as  he  walked.  Perhaps  London  would 
do  the  trick?  Make  her  forget. 

Lord,  what  was  there  to  remember  so  faithfully 
about  Pan  who  had  loved  a  dozen  women  since 
Doro,  and  only  left  her  because  of  money ! 

Yet  it  had  never  occurred  to  Tony  to  tell  Doro 
the  truth;  Pan  was  his  brother;  they  had  had  the 
same  father. 

No,  one  couldn't  do  that. 

They  left  for  town  on  the  following  day,  accom- 
panied by  Emilia,  Nick  and  the  car.  Doro  was  to 
have  every  possible  thing  which  made  life  attractive. 
Of  course,  Tony  and  G  had  taken  her  to  town 
every  year  "  to  do  "  the  shows ;  they  had  all  stayed 
at  the  Stafford,  and  had  not  bothered  to  open  up 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  219 

Greville  House ;  but  those  visits  had  been  brief  and, 
as  it  were,  undressed.  This  stay  was  to  dedicate  the 
French  frocks  and  every  possible  adornment  Doro 
could  desire. 

Hermione — "  lone,"  as  she  ordered  herself  to  be 
called — was  not,  of  course,  at  home  when  they 
arrived. 

"  Damn  bad  manners,"  both  G  and  Tony  thought. 
Doro  did  not  mind. 

She  had  met  lone  several  times,  and  she  neither 
liked  nor  disliked  her, 

Tea  was  served,  Doro  and  G  presiding,  to  a  host 
of  people  they  knew  by  name  only,  though  G  knew 
their  families'  families  in  some  cases.  Tony  knew 
no  one,  and  handed  food. 

At  six,  lone  arrived.  She  had  the  odd  gift  which 
some  people  find  a  charm  in  itself,  of  appearing  at 
once  bored  and  vital. 

Her  health  was  amazing,  though  she  adopted  an 
air  of  becoming  fatigue,  and,  clad  usually  in  filmy, 
beautiful  frocks,  gave  a  clever  impression  of  frailty. 
Her  manners  were  adorable,  if  often  rather  ex- 
hausted, and  her  appearance  all  she  desired  it  to  be. 

Charles  Lascelles  adored  her,  and  had  been 
trained  by  her  to  do  so  in  perpetuity.  He  was  not 
clever,  but  she  had  made  him  interesting,  and  she 
paraded  her  affection  for  him  whenever  she  remem- 
bered to  do  so. 

Her  vivacity  was  inextinguishable,  and  she  main- 


220  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

tained  a  champagne  standard,  and  was  duly  valued 
as  a  guest  and  enjoyed  as  a  hostess. 

Now,  as  she  entered,  some  glow  seemed  to  enter 
the  room  too. 

She  said  at  once,  "  Darlings !  "  in  her  attractive 
voice,  and  kissed  everyone,  laughed  at  everyone, 
declared  she  was  dying  for  tea,  had  none,  and  lit  a 
cigarette,  made  plans  for  the  evening,  and  summed 
up  Doro  in  her  own  mind. 

"  Spoilt,  generous,  self-willed,  passionate  • —  a 
handful — or  will  be.  What  fun!  Thank  God  she's 
beautiful." 

They  dined  at  eight-thirty,  and  had  ten  guests  to 
dinner,  and  left  for  a  play  about  ten ;  it  ended  at  a 
quarter  to  eleven,  when  everyone  went  on  to  some- 
one's house,  and  drank  champagne,  and  danced. 

At  two,  Tony  took  Doro  back  to  Berkeley  Square, 
left  her  there,  and  repaired  to  the  Stafford,  and 
wished  he  had  been  with  G,  who  had  returned  after 
dinner,  and  thanked  his  Maker  he  was  going  back 
to  Hurstpoint  on  the  morrow. 

Doro  woke  about  nine,  and  listened  to  Emilia's 
description  of  her  evening,  described  her  own,  and 
duly  went,  as  requested,  after  her  bath,  to  Tone's 
room. 

lone  was  up  in  a  peignoir,  her  hair  still  hanging 
down  and  tied  back  with  a  ribbon.  She  was  forty- 
three  and  looked  thirty  en  deshabille;  she  did  not 
dye  her  hair,  which  was  very  pretty  and  naturally 
wavy,  but  had  it  washed  by  her  French  hairdresser 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  221 

in  some  herbal  wash,  which  answered  just  the  same 
purpose  as  a  dye,  but  was  not  such  a  bother. 

Quite  honestly,  she  had  no  real  interest  in  anyone 
save  herself,  and,  through  herself,  her  husband  and 
son ;  but  she  had  a  sense  of  family  feeling,  and  her 
house  was  so  large  it  meant  very  little  to  her  chap- 
eroning Doro,  and  of  course  Tony  was  a  very  liberal 
donor. 

Charles,  who  was  really  nothing,  was  ostensibly 
a  shipping  magnate  in  London,  and,  quite  truly,  a 
good  landlord  in  the  country.  Nicholas,  the  boy, 
was  with  Hex  at  Magdalen,  and  was  innocuous,  gay, 
good-looking,  and  had  charming  manners. 

The  only  disappointment  of  Zone's  life  had  been 
that  he  had  not  inherited  her  brains.  However,  he 
had  her  looks  and  his  father's,  and  that  was  some- 
thing, and  also  he  thought  her  the  most  wonderful 
woman  in  the  world,  and  that  was  another. 

Not  that  lone  would  have  owned  men  folk  who 
did  not;  she  insisted  on  nothing  visibly,  and  ob- 
tained everything  by  dint  of  concealing  her  force 
of  character  whilst  she  exercised  it.  Women  loved 
her  because  she  talked  with  them,  and  not  about 
them;  she  knew  few  people  who  were  not  fond  of 
her,  and  attributed  this,  firstly  to  her  charm,  sec- 
ondly to  her  house,  thirdly  to  her  lack  of  snobbish- 
ness, which  was  a  real  fact. 

There  are  only  two  sets  of  people  in  the  world 
who  are  not  snobs;  one  is  the  set  which  does  not 
care  to  visit  the  homes  of  the  great,  or  call  them  by 


222  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

their  Christian  names  in  public,  because  it  can,  and 
the  other  is  composed  of  those  irresponsible  idealists 
who  do  not  count  anyway! 

One  grasped  by  inference  to  which  set  lone  be- 
longed! Her  hospitality  was  indiscriminate;  she 
did  not  care  what  guests  she  asked  to  her  house  for 
big  affairs,  because  she  rarely  realized  they  were 
there;  as  a  result,  the  semi-demi  smart  woman  of 
the  world,  the  woman  of  a  certain  social  status  and 
breeding  (who  possessed,  however,  a  wider  outlook 
than  was  customary  in  some  matters!) — women, 
that  is  to  say,  who  managed  to  keep  their  lovers  and 
their  prestige  at  the  same  time — went  there; 
mothers  as  devoted  to  their  children  as  lone; 
artistic  people,  and  steady  friends  of  Charles,  and 
Tone's  habitudes,  and  an  olla  podrida  of  moneyed 
London. 

lone  was  restlessly  modern,  and  meant,  as  she 
said,  to  have  a  good  time. 

G  would  have  been  nearly  stunned  into  a  decline 
had  she  realized  Tone's  code  of  life.  Mercifully,  she 
believed  it  to  be  that  of  all  Rexfords,  and  had  there- 
fore felt  quite  at  ease  in  committing  Doro  to  her 
charge;  Tony  knew  nothing  anyway,  and  would 
have  realized  very  little  if  he  had  stayed  a  month 
at  Berkeley  Square. 

Tone  surveyed  Doro  much  as  she  looked  over  a 
horse  at  Tattersall's. 

Then  she  announced  where  Doro  should  go  for 
clothes,  where  they  were  going  during  the  day  for 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  223 

amusement,  and  told  her  she  was  beautiful,  and 
asked  her  if  she  wished  to  marry. 

Doro  said  "  No,"  composedly. 

"  Oh,  why?  "  lone  asked.  "  It's  really  the  best 
way  of  living.  Most  people  make  such  a  muddle  of 
it  because  they  feel  convinced  it  must  have  a  basis 
of  mutual  adoration.  As  if  that  ever  lasted — or 
could.  Every  woman  ought  to  study  science  a  little, 
sufficiently  anyway  to  grasp  the  why  and  wherefore 
of  duration  of  what  all  of  us,  at  one  time  or  another, 
call  love !  Look  at  me,"  she  flashed  a  smile  in  Doro's 
direction.  "  I  married  Charles  twenty-two  years 
ago,  and  there  is  not  one  moment  of  my  married  life 
I  regret,  and  yet  I  was  never  in  love  with  him!  I 
had  a  sense  of  values,  that  was  all.  I  liked  his 
looks,  I  knew  him  well!  I  realized  he  had  certain 
qualities  that  made  for  peace  and  contentment,  and 
he  adored  me.  I  was  very  fond  of  him,  I  have  never 
liked  any  man  as  well,  and  so  I  married  him.  I  fore- 
saw we  could  make  a  decent  thing  of  life.  We  had 
the  same  tastes — at  least,  I  knew  we  should  have: 
Charles  was  malleable,  you  see ;  and  we  loved  chil- 
dren and  having  a  good  time ;  and  he,  as  I  say,  loved 
me.  Voila!" 

"D'you  believe  in  romance,  lone?"  Doro  asked. 
"  I  mean  the  sort  one  reads  about :  deathless  pas- 
sion, two  people  who  matter  to  one  another  in- 
tensely .  .  .?" 

lone  shot  a  very  shrewd  glance  in  Doro's  direc- 
tion. Tony  and  G  had  told  her  nothing;  she  felt  a 


224  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

little  aggrieved,  realizing  there  was  something  to 
tell. 

She  said,  walking  about  the  beautiful  room,  put- 
ting carnations  straight  in  their  vases,  tidying  her 
letters,  directing  her  maid  at  intervals : 

"You  mean  the  Paolo-Francesca,  Komeo  and 
Juliet  love?  Yes,  for  a  woman,  but  for  extremely 
rare  women ;  women  who  would  use  their  mentality 
in  love,  never  a  grand  amoureuse,  and  unfortu- 
nately most  clever  woman  who  have  great  tempera- 
ment exploit  it  in  that  way.  To  love  you  have  to 
have  so  much  free  time,  my  dear!  Freedom  of 
thought,  too,  and  that's  so  difficult  to  obtain;  and 
qualities  which  are  rather  far-fetched  for  most  of 
us:  the  spirit  of  sacrifice,  limitless  generosity, 
humility — oh!  I  don't  know:  all  the  dull  virtues 
which  are  only  not  dull  when  they  are  guided  by 
brilliant  mentality!  For  the  ordinary  every  day 
man  and  woman  romance  is  an  impossibility.  Sorry 
to  be  depressing,  but  that  is  the  truth.  It's  better, 
my  dear,  to  go  in  for  a  good  time !  As  we  are  going 
to  do.  Get  dressed  now,  will  you?  The  car  will  be 
round  at  eleven." 

She  was  peacefully  bored  with  Doro  by  the  after- 
noon, and  might  have  stayed  in  that  condition  of 
perfect  amiability  if  Doro  had  not  arranged  with 
Cavini  for  a  singing  lesson  the  following  day.  lone 
stood  on  the  stairs  spellbound ;  true  to  type,  or  per- 
haps one  should  say  to  the  standard  she  imposed 
in  order  to  keep  her  position  as  deesse  with  her 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  225 

friends,  she  "  knew  "  the  arts  intelligently ;  at  any 
rate,  she  recognized  the  wonder  of  Doro's  voice,  and 
quite  quickly,  after  realization,  the  attraction  this 
discovery  would  be  for  her  next  parties. 

She  went  into  the  drawing-room  when  the  song 
was  finished,  and  found  the  great  Cavini  nearly 
weeping  with  joy. 

"  What  a  voice !  "  he  said  to  her,  mopping  his  face. 

"  What  a  voice ! " 

He  enthused  wildly,  speaking  with  Neapolitan 
frankness  of  Doro's  appearance,  her  anatomy,  and 
temperament. 

"  Scientifically  and  physiologically,"  lone  smiled 
at  Doro.  "  How  interesting !  " 

She  gave  a  big  party  the  following  week,  and 
Doro  sang  at  it,  in  a  Callot  frock,  with  the  "  tem- 
perament "  en  evidence  in  her  voice.  She  had  a 
furore  of  a  success  and,  through  it,  became  in  a 
moment  a  definite  personality. 

Kex,  down  on  a  visit  with  Nicholas  Lascelles, 
found  a  new  being. 

He  told  her  so,  leaning  his  long  length  against  a 
window  and  gazing  at  her  dispassionately. 

"  What  d'you  mean  to  do  about  it?  "  he  asked. 

Doro  laughed. 

"  Oh,  live,  have  a  good  time,  as  lone  is  always 
saying." 

He  nodded. 

"  Grow  like  lone?  " 

"  One  might  do  worse,  my  dear." 


226  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Granted,  as  they  say  in  Yorkshire,  or  County 
Somerset,  or  Beckenham,  but  do  you  enormously 
admire  even  the  very  best  paste?  I  know  it's  a  most 
finished  thing,  far  more  valued  by  connoisseurs  than 
solitaires,  for  instance;  but,  after  all,  it's  not  the 
real  thing." 

Doro  laughed  again,  Hex  was  so  delightfully 
funny  and  abstruse. 

"  Poor  lone,  how  crushing ! " 

"  Oh,  she'd  laugh,"  Hex  assured  her ; "  she'd  never 
accept  any  statement  that  wasn't  flattering  as 
true!" 

Doro  liked  having  Rex  and  Nicholas;  both  were 
good-looking,  and  both  smart  with  that  clean  nice- 
ness  which  is  so  pleasing;  both,  needless  to  say, 
interested  in  their  clothes  to  a  degree  of  absorption. 

Nicholas  proposed,  quite  happily,  to  do  nothing. 

Rex  intended  to  "  stand,"  he  announced,  "  some- 
where, somehow,  some  day." 

His  limp  had  nearly  disappeared ;  he  had  trained, 
exercised,  undergone  an  operation  in  order  to  be- 
come fit,  and  he  had  outgrown  much  of  his  earlier 
delicacy. 

Nicholas  and  he,  Doro  and  lone,  raced  through 
life;  it  was  lived  to  pitched  laughter,  quick  wit, 
quicker  dancing,  rather  heavy  drinking. 

Everyone  drank  and  was  amused  by  it,  and  if 
you  drank  too  much,  were  more  amused. 

Rex,  writing  to  G,  was  discreet  for  her  sake ;  he 
took  a  week-end  of  his  brief  vacation  to  go  down  and 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  227 

stay  with  her,  though  he  longed  to  remain  in 
London. 

He  told  her  of  Doro's  success;  he  dilated  on  her 
beauty,  Tone's  kindness,  and  bowdlerized  his  de- 
scription of  the  crowd  with  which  Doro  and  she 
ran. 

He  went  up  for  a  last,  huge  party  before  term 
began  the  following  day.  It  was  early  May,  and  the 
train  sped  through  cuttings  tipped  with  shining 
greenness  out  into  fields  golden-starred  with 
dandelions. 

London  semed  utterly  delightful  in  the  gay  pink 
and  gold  sunset,  the  streets  were  thronged,  the 
shops  glowing  lengths  of  colour;  Tone's  house  had 
new  flowers  in  the  window-boxes,  marguerites  and 
lobelias,  and  the  awning  was  ready  for  the  ball,  and 
the  red  carpet. 

He  had  that  splendid  sense  of  Men  etre,  which 
being  fit  and  young  and  happy  alone  conveys;  he 
took  the  austere  steps  two  at  a  time,  and  hailed 
Nicholas  with  a  shout  as  he  saw  him  going  upstairs. 

They  turned  into  Nicholas's  special  room  for  a 
cocktail. 

"  Where's  Doro?  "  Kex  asked  almost  at  once. 

"  Putting  the  war  paint  on,  or  out,  or  something," 
Nicholas  answered.  "I  say,  Shropshire  did!" 

Rex  felt  an  odd  contraction  in  his  heart ;  he  heard 
himself  say  unemotionally: 

"And  Doro?" 

"  Did  not"  young  Nicholas  said  as  solemnly. 


228  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Kex  burst  out  laughing. 

"  It's  a  chance  of  a  life-time  gone  phut,"  Nicholas 
observed  almost  reproachfully,  staring  at  him.  "  A 
title,  places,  hell  of  a  lot  of  money,  and  a  decent 
feller,  take  it  all  in  all." 

"  Good  deal  of  one  sort  of  all,"  Kex  suggested 
keenly. 

Nicholas  had  the  nature  which,  in  early  youth, 
admires  a  "  dog,"  and  believes  fastness  to  be  an 
asset ;  he  wagged  his  boyish  head. 

"  Oh,  well,  we  only  live  once,"  he  remarked. 

"And  other  people  live  lots  of  lives  for  us  to 
atone  for  it !  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  Nicholas  repeated  vaguely ;  he  could 
never  cope  with  Kex  when  he  became  what  he  called 
"  top-lofty." 

"What  did  your  mater  say?"  Rex  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"  Oh,  nothing !  Laughed.  Shropshire  went  to  her 
first  in  the  good  old-fashioned  way.  He  meant  busi- 
ness, I  tell  you." 

"  Where  is  Doro,  anyway?  " 

"  I've  told  you :  out,  or  in,  or  not,  or  something," 
Nicholas  suggested ; "  I  dunno." 

Rex  went  in  search  of  her,  but  in  vain. 

They  met  at  dinner  finally  which  happened  to  be 
a  party  at  the  Ritz,  and  Rex  found  himself  opposite 
Doro;  beside  her  Lord  Shropshire  was  sitting, 
visibly  passing  through  that  process  vulgarly 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  229 

known  as  "  bearing  up,"  and  not  doing  so  with  dis- 
tinction. 

Doro  met  Rex's  eyes  and  smiled  at  him. 

Again  that  odd  little  contraction  shook  his  heart ; 
at  least,  his  breath  caught  for  a  second. 

He  went  on  looking  at  Doro,  and  chose  perversely 
to  imagine  her  engaged  to  Shropshire. 

Suddenly  Shropshire's  hearty  voice  said  to  him : 

"  I  say,  Greville,  whom  do  you  want  to  murder?  " 

Rex  knew  he  flushed  darkly;  he  felt  the  hot 
blood  drum  up  under  his  skin  right  to  his  forehead ; 
he  laughed  as  naturally  as  he  could. 

"  I  bet  there  was  someone,"  Shropshire  pursued 
heavily ;  "  your  eyes  had  a  glare  in  'em,  old  son,  I 
tell  you." 

Rex  asked  himself:  "What  on  the  earth's  the 
matter  with  me?  " 

He  felt  ashamed  of  his  "  idiocy  "  as  he  termed  it, 
and  turned  resolutely  to  his  partner  and  made  con- 
versation. He  scarcely  looked  at  Doro  again. 

But  when  they  were  leaving  the  Ritz  she  came 
up  to  him. 

"  Let's  walk  back  together,"  she  whispered ;  "  it's 
only  a  few  steps,  and  it's  such  a  heavenly  night." 

She  slid  a  hand  through  his  arm. 

And  in  that  touch  he  knew,  for  it  seemed  to  race 
like  flame  through  his  veins  until  it  reached  his 
heart. 

The  flame  rested  there. 


230  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Almost  with  stupefaction  he  told  himself : 

"  I  love  her." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  walked  beside  her  in 
some  dream,  that  he  must  awake  and  say :  "  How 
extraordinary,  it  seemed  so  real  I"  It  was  as  if  a 
spell  held  him  in  thrall ;  he  realized  the  scent  of  the 
London  streets  in  summer  time;  he  heard  the  roar 
of  the  traffic;  a  car  gleamed  out  of  the  soft  dark- 
ness ;  Doro  was  speaking. 

And  mechanically,  over  and  over  again,  his  own 
soul  seemed  to  say :  "  I  love  her ;  I  love  her." 

Now,  as  she  moved,  as  her  hand  pressed  less 
lightly,  that  amazing  thrill  pierced  its  way  to  him 
again.  He  had  never — as  an  actual  fact,  as  a  thing 
that  could,  that  must  happen  to  him — thought  of 
love.  His  life  had  had  no  place  for  it,  no  time ;  even 
lately,  at  Oxford,  he  had  never  been  absorbed  by 
the  one  topic  which  seemed  to  interest  most  of  the 
men.  There  had  been  Doro  and  G  in  his  life ;  they 
had  sufficed  him.  He  did  not  realize  and  would  not, 
for  some  long  time,  how  much  G's  influence  had 
swayed  him ;  how  very  much  she  had  counted,  and 
how  wholly  finely  in  his  life. 

To-night — all  the  world  seemed  a  new  place; 
miraculous,  yet  disturbing,  greatly  perplexing. 

"  You  are  very  silent,"  Doro  said  to  him,  "  and 
we're  nearly  there.  I  wanted  to  hear  about  home." 

Eex  dashed  into  a  jerky,  spirited  description  of 
his  visit,  and  all  the  while,  as  he  held  her  arm  in 
closely,  he  longed  to  cry  out : 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  231 

"  Don't  take  your  hand  away,  I  love  it  there ! " 
and  wondered  with  a  sort  of  chill,  almost  fright- 
ened wonder,  what  Doro  would  say  if  he  did  so. 

He  was  uncertain  what  he  felt,  save  this  heady, 
stinging  sensation  of  mystifying  delight ;  he  was  out 
of  his  depth  utterly. 

He  glanced  at  Doro's  profile  shyly,  bending  his 
head  to  see  it  better. 

It  was  as  though  he  had  never  seen  her  until  now. 
He  thought  of  his  stay  at  Pointers,  and  his  restless 
longing  to  be  back  in  London. 

He  had  wondered  why  a  little  himself ;  it  had  been 
all  the  while  as  if  some  power  had  been  drawing 
and  drawing  him  back. 

He  remembered  walking  in  G's  garden  very  late, 
and  standing  beside  the  tobacco  plants  and  feeling 
the  strangest  sense  of  stirredness. 

But  he  had  not  actually  thought  of  Doro  then; 
it  had  only  been  when  he  had  imagined  her  in  love 
with  Shropshire  that  he  had  truly  realized ;  he  had 
known  then  that  for  her  to  love  another  man  would 
be  hideous — simply,  that  it  could  not  be. 

At  that  moment  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that  love 
could  be  unreturned. 

Because  it  had  been  born  in  his  heart,  it  must  be 
born,  too,  in  the  heart  of  the  woman  who  had  in- 
spired it. 

Life's  most  delicate  and  poignant  irony,  the  belief 
that  love  must  create  love,  was  accepted  by  him  as  a 
lovely  and  immutable  gospel. 


232  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Partly,  perhaps,  because  he  had  been  ill  so  much, 
and,  therefore,  had  been  debarred  from  leading  the 
ordinary  boy's  happily  dull  career,  the  strain  of 
mysticism  in  his  nature  had  become  a  strong  in- 
fluence. He  brought  to  love  much  that  few  youths 
of  his  years  could  bring,  and  one  quality  which  few 
people  ever  practise  or  can,  with  regard  to  love :  the 
exercise  of  philosophy. 

He  had  read  so  much,  dreamed  so  much,  been — 
save  for  G's  love,  his  love  for  her  (in  itself  a 
strangely  gentle,  strangely  curious  influence) — so 
alone,  that  his  outlook  was  bound  to  be  either  mis- 
anthropic, or  that  of  a  visionary  disciple  of  what- 
ever creed  aroused  his  loyalty,  his  unspoiltness  and 
straightness,  and,  until  a  short  time  before,  pathetic 
disability  for  sport  had  made  it  the  latter. 

He  was  clean  all  through  by  instinct,  and  because 
of  G's  robust  clarity. 

If  he  was  pedantic,  he  was  also  gallant. 

That  wild  desire  to  tell  Doro,  to  urge  what  seemed 
to  blaze  in  his  brain  and  heart,  to  speak  of  his  love, 
seized  him  again.  . 

"  Doro,"  he  said,  and  thought  his  voice  normal. 

Doro,  loosing  his  arm,  said : 

"  Did  you  speak,  Rex?  " 

The  crushing  snub,  which  mere  normality  admin- 
isters more  effectively  than  irony  or  indifference, 
because  it  is  unconscious,  struck  him  to  silence. 

She  was  on  the  red-carpeted  steps,  he  mounting 
behind  her;  the  moment  had  passed. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  233 

lone  was  already  at  the  entrance  of  the  ballroom, 
looking  a  little  bored  and  quite  beautiful,  and  wear- 
ing what  Nicholas  disrespectfully  described  as  the 
"  eternal  fender  " ;  some  people  had  arrived  and  the 
band  was  playing. 

Kex,  with  quick  foresight,  claimed  certain  dances 
with  Doro;  later,  much  later,  she  was  to  sing.  Ke- 
camez  was  to  appear  also,  and  Cavini  was  to  play. 

"  Now  we're  off !  "  Nicholas  exclaimed,  listening 
to  this  description  of  fame  and  beauty. 

lone  danced  with  him ;  she  loved  him  as  she  loved 
nothing  and  no  one  else ;  for  her,  he  was  never  this 
big  person,  but  her  little  son,  whose  advent  had  been 
the  greatest  joy  of  her  life.  He  danced  perfectly, 
and  so  did  she,  and  she  looked  like  his  sister. 

"  Muv,  you're  a  beauty  and  a  peach,"  he  told  her. 

"And  you're  a  darling,  Baby,"  she  answered, 
laughing  at  him,  her  brilliant  eyes  soft  and  shining 
with  pleasure. 

Kex,  dancing  with  Doro,  felt  his  dream-thrall 
upon  him,  and  with  it  that  startlingly  keen  percep- 
tion dreams  seem  to  confer;  it  was  as  if  he  really 
"  saw  "  Doro  for  the  first  time,  and  he  gloried  in 
this  flooding  vision. 

His  thoughts  ran  goldenly;  every  poem  he  had 
ever  read  of  love  of  lovely  women  seemed  to  float 
through  his  brain. 

He  invested  Doro  with  the  glamour  of  a  first  great 
romance,  and  could  look  this  night  upon  her  rose- 
carnation  colouring,  her  lovely-petalled  mouth,  with 


234  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

the  worship  of  one  before  an  altar.  He  and  she 
seemed  both  unreal  in  this  white  hour  of  revelation. 

Yet  once,  as  they  danced,  and  Doro  moved  her 
head  and  her  hair  brushed  his  bent  cheek,  a  thrill 
so  exultant,  so  virile,  shook  him  that  unconsciously 
his  arm  tightened  round  her,  his  hand  holding  hers 
trembled. 

Oh !  did  she  not  feel  too — she  must,  she  should. 

He  relinquished  her  with  his  heart  drumming  like 
a  rebel  against  all  serenity,  and  his  young  blood 
like  wine. 

He  could  not  dance  with  anyone  else  yet;  he 
slipped  out  on  to  the  balcony. 

London  glowed  and  shivered  with  intensity  of  life 
around  him,  he  felt  a  passionate  oneness  with  it, 
with  all  the  glitter  and  stress;  the  golden  lights 
below,  the  silver  above,  and  between — the  swim- 
ming blueness  of  a  perfect  night. 

Down  in  the  street  a  man  laughed,  a  girl's  voice 
answered  his  laugh;  the  lilac  trees  waved  their 
fragrant  tassels  and  wafted  the  scent  into  the  soft 
air ;  a  laburnum  gleamed  like  palely  golden  fire. 

All  Rex's  youth  flamed  in  him,  too,  like  a  mount- 
ing torch  which  would  blaze  into  sudden  dazzling 
splendour. 

"  I  live,  I  live,"  he  told  himself,  with  a  little,  ex- 
cited, boyish  laugh. 

Suddenly  he  longed  to  be  in  G's  garden  beside 
the  tobacco  plant  again,  its  intoxicating  and  poig- 
nant perfume  charming  him  like  a  caress. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  235 

To  stand  there  with  Doro  and  kiss  her,  and  kiss 
her  ... 

He  realized  that  the  dance  music  had  ceased  and 
went  back ;  everyone  was  moving  slowly  towards  the 
music-room. 

Doro  was  to  sing,  or  Recamez;  at  any  rate,  he 
longed  to  hear. 

He  saw  Doro  standing  beside  lone,  and  Cavini 
waving  his  hands  absurdly  and  smiling  fatuously. 

Everyone  grew  very  still;  Cavini  ceased  atti- 
tudinizing and  seated  himself  at  the  piano,  and  the 
first  notes  of  L'Heure  Exquise  fell  like  flower  petals 
into  the  silence. 

That  sheer  ecstasy,  which  can  only  come  from 
knowledge  as  well  as  appreciation,  filled  Rex ;  each 
tone  of  Doro's  voice  was  like  the  music  of  his  own 
spirit. 

The  song  ended,  and  there  was  that  moment's 
supreme  tribute  of  utter  noiselessness  before  the 
applause  broke  out. 

Kex,  as  it  died  away,  when  it  was  seen  that  Cavini 
was  preparing  to  play  again,  heard  a  voice  behind 
him,  and  recognized,  with  that  irritating  uncer- 
tainty which  nags  at  the  mind,  that  he  could  not 
place  its  owner,  and  unwillingly  turned  his  head. 

His  eyes  met  Pasquale  Greville's  dark  golden 
ones. 

"Ah,  Rex!" 

The  two  nodded  coldly ;  Rex  turned  away  again. 
But  he  had  lost  his  hold  on  utter  delight,  and 


236  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

though  his  music-loving  soul  paid  its  just  tribute, 
yet  his  mind  was  absorbed  by  Greville's  arrival. 

And  instantly,  as  partner  to  his  disturbed  absorp- 
tion, came  another  thought:  What  would  Doro 
feel? 

He  looked  at  her,  and  by  a  most  unhappy  chance 
saw  in  her  eyes  her  greeting  to  Pan. 

His  soul  sickened  with  an  unknown  fear  and 
dread  as  he  watched  Doro's  face :  for  it  was  exactly 
as  though  a  light  were  lit  behind  those  lovely  eyes ; 
as  if  one  gazed,  oneself  on  earth,  upon  the  entry  of 
another  into  Paradise. 

Her  face  was  illumined,  transfigured  for  a  sec- 
ond; then  convention  reasserted  its  sway,  and  she 
smiled  formally  at  Pan. 

And  he?  With  a  violent  twist  of  his  shoulders 
Rex  stared  at  him  again. 

Ah,  he  had  seen,  too! 

He  had  been  of  even  colour  when  first  they  had 
recognized  one  another;  now,  after  that  instant's 
exchange  of  glances  with  Doro,  his  face  was  white. 

Rex  studied  him  with  the  merciless  scrutiny  of 
youth  for  disliked  age. 

He  looked  older,  his  thick  hair  had  a  powdering 
on  the  temples,  innumerable  tiny  lines  showed 
round  his  mouth,  but  he  was  still  damnably  good- 
looking,  and  Rex  hated  him  for  the  fact,  as  well  as 
for  forcing  it  on  his  recognition. 

But  he  looked  "  lived  out,"  and  Rex  recognized  it. 

He  pushed  a  courteous  way  to  Pan. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  237 

"  When  did  you  get  back?  "  he  asked  civilly. 

"  This  afternoon,  from  Paris,  from  Petersburg, 
from  Peking ! " 

"  Eather  interesting  tour.  I  suppose  you  made  it 
because  of  the  alliteration?  Staying  in  town  long?  " 

"  Haven't  an  idea." 

"  Where're  you  putting  up?  " 

"  I'm  at  the  Kitz.   You  must  dine  one  night." 

"  Thanks.  I  go  up  to-morrow,  though.  I'm  with 
Nicholas  Lascelles  at  Magdalen." 

"  Ah !   Dim  shades  of  my  youth !  " 

«  Oh,  really?  " 

They  had  no  more  to  say — they  eyed  one  another 
with  hidden  hostility. 

Pan  said  perfunctorily : 

"  And  Hurstpoint,  and  so  on?  " 

"  Quite  all  right,  I  think.  I  was  there  for  two 
week-ends.  My  father  and  G  were  fit." 

The  use  of  that  possessive  pronoun  irritated 
Pan;  obscurely:  supercilious,  affected,  young  cub! 

He  said  in  a  slight  drawl : 

"  Doro  seems  to  have  come  on,  what?  "  and  with- 
out waiting  for  Eex's  answer,  strolled  through  an 
opening  he  saw  and  walked  towards  the  piano. 

Rex  watched  the  actual  meeting  with  miserable 
weakness,  aware  he  only  did  so  because  of  his  sus- 
picion, and  despising  himself,  and  yet  unable  to 
leave  the  coign  of  vantage. 

And  again  he  saw  Doro's  face  illumined  for  a 


238  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

moment;  then,  bewilderingly,  it  changed  utterly 
and  became  ironically  cold. 

He  turned  away  and  went  into  the  other  room, 
an  anguish  of  a  half -understood  bitterness  welling 
up  in  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 

"  Debts  make  freemen  slaves." — SOPHOCLES. 

WHEN  Doro  faced  Pan  utter  nervousness 
possessed  her;  she  wanted  to  laugh  aim- 
lessly; she  had  no  clear  thought,  no  in- 
stinct of  what  to  say. 

She  gave  her  hand  to  Pan,  and,  as  if  that  touch 
released  some  spring  which  had  restrained  her 
mind,  there  rushed  upon  her  the  memory  of  their 
last  parting,  that  winter's  night  years  before,  and 
then  she  said  with  banal  flatness: 

"  You  are  back  then?  " 

Pan  answered: 

"  The  Prodigal  has  returned !  Will  you  help  kill 
the  fatted  calf  at  a  dinner  to-morrow  at  the  Ritz? 
I  am  staying  there.  And  you?  " 

"  lone  is  giving  me  a  season." 

"  Ah,  really !  "  His  eyes  sparkled  for  a  moment. 
"  That  is  splendid.  I  am  to  be  in  town,  too." 

lone  joined  them  with  a  little  cry  of  pleasure. 
"  You !  "  she  said,  holding  Pan's  arm,  "  after  long 
years  indeed!  Well,  comment  ca  va?  " 

"Isn't  everything  vsry  much  the  same?"  Pan 
answered. 

"  Ah,  you've  been  as  dull  as  that?  Poor  dear!  " 

239 


240  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  You  look  radiant,"  he  told  her. 

"I  feel  it.  Why  not?" 

Doro  was  studying  Pan  as  he  talked  to  lone,  and 
the  study  stirred  her  heart  unutterably.  She  so 
loved  beauty,  and  here  before  her  again  was  that 
face  which  had  once  been  as  a  god's ;  at  which,  just 
to  look,  had  seemed  such  wonderful  happiness. 

And  she  had  not  only  looked ! 

Her  heart  throbbed  unbearably  as  she  recalled 
those  wild  kisses,  clinging,  unsatisfied,  so  passion- 
ate; as  she  remembered  other  dear,  absurd,  little 
delights  of  love-making,  Pan's  eye-lashes  kissing 
her  cheek,  herself  tracing  his  profile  with  a  finger 
he  caught  and  prisoned  between  his  lips.  .  .  . 

Now  they  met  like  this — and  yet  all  that  had 
been!  That  question  women's  hearts  have  asked 
through  the  ages  echoed  in  Doro's: 

"  How  can  he?  How  can  he?  " 

How  could  he  stand  so  near,  and  never  care  if  it 
were  less  near,  or  more ;  he  who  had  once  said :  "  I 
could  hold  you  in  my  arms  for  ever?  " 

Yet  he  could;  and  suddenly  his  indifferent  com- 
posure became  a  mortification. 

She  gave  a  little  smothered  gasp.  She  would  go ; 
she  would  not  wait. 

David  Shropshire  passed;  his  face  lit  up  at  the 
sight  of  her. 

"  My  dance?  "  he  said  impressively,  and  led  her 
away. 

lone  laughed  at  Pan. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  241 

"You  saw?" 

"  Not  entirely  clearly,  I'm  ashamed  to  confess,  my 
dear,  knowing  your  passion  for  pace  in  all  things." 

"Not  all.  But  in  this  affair,  yes.  David  wants 
to  marry  Doro,  and  I  want  him  to,  too.  She's  the  sort 
of  girl  who  won't  take  the  plunge  easily.  There  is 
too  much  romance  about  her,  my  dear,  to  allow 
of  any  dalliance!  If  she  waits  to  marry — she  will 
wait,  become  choyee  probably,  and  not  marry  at  all. 
And  that  is  a  tragedy  for  any  woman  with  looks." 

"Why? "  asked  Pan  idly,  disliking  the  conversa- 
tion, yet  forced  to  go  on  with  it  if  he  wished  to  learn 
more  of  Doro. 

"  Oh,  children,"  lone  threw  out  lightly.  "  Doro 
should  have  adorable  babies,  position,  and  so  on. 
After  all,  Tony  can  do  something  for  her,  but  not 
very  much.  Kex  gets  everything,  naturally.  He's 
the  dearest  being — a  cross  between  Sir  Galahad,  a 
budding  La  Rochefoucauld,  and  a  portrait  of  one's 
ancestors ! " 

Pan  asked,  with  startling  abruptness: 

"  Rexford,  how  is  he?  " 

"  Oh,  Rexford,  that's  all ! " 

He  wished  lone  would  not  be  so  elliptically  witty, 
or  less  convinced  wit  must  be  brief. 

"  Did  he  talk  over  my  sins  with  you?  " 

He  had  to  know  that,  to  discover  where  he  stood 
in  this  new  and  intriguing  scheme  of  things  which 
presented  itself  to  him,  and  Doro  as  Tone's  ward. 

lone  laughed  really  amusedly. 


242  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  My  dear,  I  only  see  Tony  once  in  fifteen  blue 
moons,  and  then  only  for  an  hour;  in  eternity  he 
may  begin  the  discussion  you  mention:  we  might 
thrash  the  matter  out  then !  " 

She  did  not  know  then. 

"How  d'you  like  having  Doro  with  you?"  he 
said,  pretending  to  look  in  idle  interest  about  him. 

"  Oh,  greatly ;  she  has  all  the  gifts  a  guest  should 
have :  looks,  an  exploitable  talent,  the  right  clothes 
(I  chose  'em),  and,  thank  God,  the  art  of  retire- 
ment. Shall  we  dance?  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"Love,  till  dawn  sunder  night  from  day  with  fire. 
Dividing  my  delight  and  my  desire, 
The  crescent  life,  and  love  the  plenilune; 
Love  me  though  dusk  begin  and  dark  retire. 
Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon.  .  .  . 

"  Nay,  I  will  sleep  then  only,  nay  but  go. 
Ah  sweet,  too  sweet  to  me,  my  sweet  I  know. 
Love,  sleep,  and  death  go  to  the  same  sweet  tune, 
Hold  my  hair  fast  and  kiss  me  through  it  so. 
Ah,  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon" 

SWINBURNE. 

II ¥  WILL  not  remember,  I  will  not,"  Doro  told 
herself  vehemently.  "  Oh,  why  did  he  come 
back?  " 

She  dreaded  a  resurgence  of  the  old  unhappiness, 
as  one  dreads  the  recurrence  of  a  devastating  pain, 
and  yet  there  was  upon  her  that  ghastly  sureness 
which  freezes  hope,  that  she  was  not  safe,  that  she 
was  to  be  claimed  again,  that  the  pain  already  had 
thrust  out  a  tiny  spear  which  was  beginning  to 
rankle. 

She  went  everywhere  with  redoubled  vivacity; 
she  never  rested,  she  was  afraid  to  rest. 

Rex  had  left  with  scarcely  a  word,  and  she  had 
; scarcely  missed  him;  all  her  consciousness  was  ab- 

243 


244  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

sorbed  in  escaping  from  her  own  memories,  in  defy- 
ing their  power. 

The  glimpse  of  a  branch  of  belated  almond-blos- 
som, its  tinv,  exquisitely  vivid  roses  shining  out 
like  coloured  stars,  struck  her  heart  like  a  blow. 
For  one  second  she  was  back  in  the  gardens,  the 
big,  soft  night-wind  blowing,  the  rain  bea.ting 
gently  on  her  face,  and  the  almond-blossom  falling, 
falling  like  weary  tears. 

"  Heavenly  stuff !  "  lone  said.  "  But  so  foolish ! 
The  frailest,  most  adorable  of  all  flowers,  and  it 
braves  the  earliest  spring !  So  rash  of  it !  No  won- 
der it  withers  first  and  never  finds  the  lovely  sum- 
mer time.  Lack  of  perception  there,  if  you  like  I" 

Doro  laughed  mechanically. 

Ah!  lack  of  perception,  indeed — and  how  true 
that  the  frailest  blossoms  withered  first 

She  clenched  her  hands  suddenly;  she  was 
"  thinking  back  "  again,  and  that  way  lay  the  land 
of  desolation.  .  .  . 

Pan  came  very  little;  for  one  thing,  though  this 
may  not  have  influenced  him  greatly,  his  allowance 
was  just  due ;  for  another,  he  was  finishing  an  affair 
which  threatened  to  be  rather  troublesome. 

Foi*  a  last  reason,  he  was  uncertain  of  himself  for 
once. 

He  had  no  idea  what  Rexford  had  told  Doro, 
and  he  had  no  means  of  discovering  her  actual 
knowledge. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  245 

So  he  avoided  her  rather,  giving  time  its  chance : 
time  which  obligingly  laid  bare  so  much,  time  as- 
sisted by  a  subtle  searcher ! 

But,  as  history  can  prove  with  crushing  force,  one 
glance  can  suffice  to  wreck  the  matured  plans  of  a 
lifetime. 

Pan,  rather  pleased  with  himself  for  his  absti- 
nence, assuring  himself  he  was  fleeing  temptation, 
keeping  his  word,  considering  Doro's  good,  not  a 
little  inflated  by  the  sense  of  his  honour  towards 
Rexford,  refused  Zone's  invitations  systematically, 
to  meet  Doro  at  a  small  party  which  Shropshire 
gave  at  Ranelagh. 

It  was  a  hot  night,  and  the  air  was  weighed  down 
by  a  thousand  perfumes ;  perfect  summer  bred  rest- 
lessness by  its  beauty. 

Shropshire,  in  his  blindness,  had  placed  Pan  on 
Doro's  left.  Was  he  not  a  sort  of  relative,  and 
therefore  safe? 

The  great  Recamez,  great  in  every  sense — "et 
'pourquoi pas"  to  quote  an  adorer,  "  since  one  could 
never  have  too  much  of  the  truly  beautiful?  " — 
offered  generously  to  sing. 

Shropshire  gave  an  order  to  the  musicians,  and 
the  leader  hurried  forward  and  bowed  before 
Recamez. 

He  was  Italian.  "  Of  course,  he  knew  Madame's 
songs — Good  God,  yes!  And  might  he — dared  he 
suggest  he  alone  should  accompany  the  great 
diva?  "  . 


246  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

After  further  compliments  and  a  smile  from 
Recamez's  scarlet  lips  which  dazzled  its  recipient, 
the  little  man  took  up  his  violin. 

"  I  will  sing  an  English  song,"  Recamez  an- 
nounced, "  and  I  do  not  know  its  title !  At  least,  I 
forget.  Let  us  call  it  '  Love.'  It  is  a  word  we  all 
understand,  and  it  has  a  wide  appeal,  I  think !  " 

She  opened  her  beautiful  mouth  and  began  to 
sing,  and  she  sang  like  a  child  which  is  hurt  and 
a  woman  who  loves  too  well. 

The  words  fell,  each  distinct,  apart,  sheerly  beau- 
tiful: 

u  To  sigh  for  thee,  cry  for  thee, 

Under  my  breath. 
To  find  but  a  shade 
Where  thy  head  has  been  laid, 

It  is  death. 
To  yearn  for  thee,  burn  for  thee, 

Sorrow  and  strife; 
But  to  have  thee, 
Hold  thee  and  fold  thee, 

It  is  life,  it  is  life!  " 

Doro  had  sat  immobile  at  first,  then  memories 
like  a  bursting  flood  had  poured  over  her,  and  then, 
with  almost  terrified  realization,  she  had  felt  Pan's 
hand  touch  her;  for  an  instant  she  felt  utterly 
numb,  then  she  shivered  desperately,  and  helplessly 
she  let  her  hand  slip  into  those  ardent,  seeking 
fingers,  which  closed  on  her  hand,  and  seemed  by 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  247 

that  action  to  close,  too,  on  her  heart,  drawing  it 
wholly  from  her  into  his  own  keeping.  She  could 
not  look  at  him.  She  knew  Recamez  sang  again, 
stopped;  people  talked,  she  herself  spoke  with 
David ;  but  all  the  while  she  was  intensely,  widely 
conscious  of  that  clasp,  that  touch  which  had  the 
power  to  change  her  whole  being,  to  sweep  her  soul, 
her  senses,  as  a  musician's  bow  sweeps  the  strings  of 
the  instrument  he  loves. 

Oh,  again,  again,  to  feel  those  kisses  which 
opened  Heaven,  again  to  be  crushed  in  an  exultant 
embrace,  again  to  listen  to  words  smothered  in  the 
saying  by  dearer  words  unspoken. 

Again,  again  to  live,  to  wake  and  thrill  and  sleep, 
and  dream,  to  love,  to  have  love  once  more  as  the 
beat  of  the  day's  measure.  And  into  her  surcharged 
mind  some  lines  flashed  dizzily — lines  of  a  poem, 
some  woman  loving  over  much  had  prayed : 

<f  This  will  I  ask  of  Christ  the  Lord, 
This  much  for  thee  and  me: 
Only  to  ~be  as  once  awhile, 
Forever  now 
Together, 
I  and  Thee " 

It  was  wrong — she  remembered  only  vaguely — 
but  it  expressed  the  unspoken,  overwhelming  long- 
ing in  her  heart. 


248  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Everyone  rose.  Pan  drew  her  chiffon  cloak,  with 
its  soft  fur  collar  round  her  shoulders.  He  said  in 
a  normal,  self-contained  voice: 

"  Shall  we  go  in  the  gardens?  The  lily  pond  is 
rather  attractive." 

They  went  out  together.  To  Doro  the  world  was 
empty  save  for  their  two  selves. 

Pan  took  her  arm  in  his  cool,  close  grasp,  and  led 
her  past  rose  trees  palely  flowering  now  in  the 
powdery  moonlight,  for  all  their  riotous  loveliness 
by  day,  towards  a  dense  belt  of  shadow  flung  by 
some  trees. 

They  had  kissed  before  under  trees,  and  now 
again  they  claimed  their  shelter. 

"  Doro ! "  he  said  in  a  stifled  whisper.  He  gripped 
her  hard  by  both  shoulders. 

"  This  is  madness,"  he  muttered.  The  passion- 
broken  words  fell  about  Doro  like  a  drift  of  golden 
leaves ;  she  lifted  her  face,  almost  sacrificially,  and 
he  kissed  her. 

"Ah,  you  love  me — you  love  me — say  it,"  she 
whispered  against  his  lips.  In  that  imploration  was 
so  much  suffering,  so  many  fears,  all  the  years  of 
waiting :  "  Say  it — say  it !  " 

He  kissed  the  words  away,  kissed  the  power  of 
speech  from  her,  kissed  her  until  she  lay  utterly 
spent  in  his  arms. 

Then,  with  a  passion-shaken  laugh,  that  low,] 
broken  laugh  of  a  sure,  exultant  conquest,  he  said : 

"  I  love  you,  I  adore  you." 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  249 

Doro  caught  his  dark  head,  back-flung  for  the 
moment,  between  her  two  hands ;  she  drew  it  down 
until  she  could  gaze  into  those  shining  eyes. 

"  Look  at  me,"  she  whispered.  "  You  must.  I 
must  be  told  the  truth.  Why  did  you  leave  me? 
How  could  you?  Why  did  you  never  write?  Oh, 
Pan,  I  waited  and  waited,  and  I — you  don't  know 
what  it  meant  to  be  without  you — and  every  day  I 
used  to  think,  perhaps  a  letter  will  come — perhaps. 
I  watched  every  post.  And  you  knew,  you  knew, 
you  held  all  my  life  between  your  hands — and  yet 
you  went — you  left  me " 

In  that  moment  Pan  would  have  lied  to  her  had 
his  life  been  forfeit  for  it,  for  upon  him  had  dawned 
the  certainty,  dearer  to  a  man  of  his  type  than  any, 
that  for  Doro  he  had  found  again  the  power  to  love. 
In  Doro  he  found  personality  and  loveliness,  and 
also  one  other  thing,  which,  for  some  men,  has  a 
great  attraction,  and  has  its  value  for  all :  she  had 
a  certain  place  already  in  that  world  which  decrees 
and  refutes.  Rexford's  name,  the  romance  of  her 
adoption,  and  her  voice  would  have  given  her  social 
prestige;  but  her  own  imperial  youth  was  her 
greatest  charm.  Many  pass  through  youth  and  have 
not  this  talent  for  largesse  of  their  very  selves,  are 
powerless  to  give  out  anything  to  the  world. 

Doro  gave  unconsciously,  with  both  outflung 
hands,  her  radiant  gaiety,  her  shining  loveliness; 
she  stimulated  like  a  draught  of  sparkling  nectar; 
she  was  vivid  in  every  movement,  every  thought, 


250  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

!,•• 

from  the  crown  of  her  head,  with  its  so  vital  hair, 
to  the  soles  of  her  narrow  feet  upon  which  she  went 
so  lightly. 

Pan  found  it  extremely  pleasant  to  love  where 
all  loved,  and  yet  know  oneself  alone  beloved ! 

Selfish,  vain,  fantastically  weak,  his  love  for 
Doro  began  to  possess  him  wholly,  and,  as  was  in 
evitable  with  a  man  of  his  age,  this  possession  be- 
came a  goad;  he  was  never  free  from  the  thought 
of  Doro,  nor  wholly  happy  in  that  thought  away 
from  her. 

To  his  type  of  temperament  remorse  is  alien ;  it 
savours  of  bourgeois  melodrama,  and  what  is  even 
worse,  discomfort! 

If  Greville  thought  of  himself  in  actuality,  he 
did  not  think  long.  His  tedious  marriage  had  not 
hampered  him  for  years :  why  should  it  now? 

Yet,  at  intervals,  he  resented  his  powerlessness 
with  a  sort  of  puny  fierceness :  he  cursed  everyone 
save  himself  for  the  dilemma  in  which  he  was  now 
placed. 

He  told  himself,  once  or  twice  in  the  very  little 
hours  when  he  was  tired,  that  he  ought  to  give 
up  seeing  Doro;  but  it  never  prevented  him  tele- 
phoning at  their  usual  hour  to  arrange  their  next 
meeting. 

How  it  would  all  end  he  never  let  himself  think. 
After  all,  this  was  the  beginning,  or  the  continua- 
tion of  the  beginning,  and  what  true  lover  ever  fore- 
sees an  end? 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  251 

Forty-five — twenty-two :  he  did  not  encourage  this 
memory,  and  told  himself  with  a  small  grimace 
that  he  had  never  cared  for  arithmetic. 

And,  after  all,  what  was  forty-five  for  a  man? 
He  thanked  God  with  genuine  gratitude  that  he 
was  of  the  "  lean  kind,"  and  that  his  hair  was  of 
hardy  growth ! 

"  Half  the  battle !  "  he  told  himself  appreciatively. 
"  Lines  add  interest ;  but  a  threatening  of  baldness 
— one's  waistcoat  in  a  wrinkle — adieu  romance !  " 

He  was,  oddly  enough,  not  very  vain  of  his  looks ; 
his  vanity  waited  on  his  attraction  for  women,  but 
mere  features,  colouring,  did  not  interest  him 
greatly. 

Of  course,  he  was  aware  he  was  good  looking, 
but  mercifully  he  forgot  the  fact  very  often. 

As  a  lover,  he  was  all  sufficing,  and  since  much 
practice  goes  to  make  perfection,  this  fact  was  not 
amazing. 

To  Doro,  he  was  Heaven,  the  sun  and  stars. 

These  years  of  despairing  waiting  had  given  her 
emotional  maturity,  and  had  quickened  her  sense  of 
adaptability  through  force  of  acceptance  of  condi- 
tions. To-day  Pan  received  the  benefit  of  quick 
understanding.  He  must  never  be  thwarted,  Doro 
learnt  swiftly,  and  avoided  this  catastrophe  by 
agreeing  with  him  or  maintaining  an  innocuous 
silence.  Sorrow,  any  suffering  is  popularly  sup- 
posed to  endow  the  sufferer  with  the  gift  of  under- 
standing, and  most  people  mistakenly  conclude  this 


252  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

understanding  must  be  universal.  In  point  of  fact, 
whilst  any  poignant  grief  must  open  new  channels 
of  vision  within  one,  they  are  traversed  merely  for 
the  purpose  of  carrying  one's  own  thoughts  to  that 
other  person  who  counts,  and  towards  the  world 
that  pretence  of  indifference  is  manifested,  which, 
because  it  displays  itself  in  courteous  and  easiest 
acceptance  of  most  things  (from  lack  of  entire  de- 
sire to  penetrate  into  anything  at  all),  is  acclaimed 
as  "  sympathetic  insight " ! 

Anyone  who  says,  "Ah,  yes,  I  know,  I  under- 
stand," to  the  inquirer  is  bound  to  be  popular.  Many 
women,  without  ever  having  had  a  vestige  of  hurt- 
ness  of  heart  even,  have  achieved  a  reputation  for 
selflessness  simply  by  the  exercise  of  such  speech, 
and  all  the  while  have  merely  used  it  as  a  shield 
for  their  boredom ! 

Doro  "  learnt "  Pan  ably,  and  if  she  found  the 
lesson  difficult,  she  brought  concentration  to  bear 
on  it. 

The  discovery  that  one  person  can  argue,  or. 
rather  that  it  was  easier  for  one  person  to  do  so, 
left  her  rather  silent  sometimes ;  a  second  discovery 
that  small  vanity  is  not  a  woman's  prerogative 
caused  further  adjustment  in  her  outlook  on  them. 

But,  above  all,  transfiguring  everything,  her 
sheer  worship  of  Pan  made  every  little  considera- 
tion of  no  value. 

Minor  selfishness  became  "his  ways,"  and,  as 
such,  to  be  laughed  at  and  rather  loved;  moods 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  253 

existed  for  her  love  to  disperse;  jealousy  was,  of 
course,  a  proof  of  love,  even  when  it  became 
exigent.  For  Pan  had  reached  that  somewhat 
pathetic  milestone  when  youth  itself  has  become  a 
dormant  grievance,  unacknowledged  because  vanity 
denies  its  value,  yet  nevertheless  a  very  real  factor ; 
in  spirit  he  was  antagonistic  to  it,  and  though  he 
spoke  of  it  with  amused  admiration,  he  could  not 
make  his  voice  of  that  inflection  which  conveyed 
genuine  pleasure. 

He  delighted  in  the  possession  of  Doro's  youth, 
but  he  drew  her  from  direct  influence  of  other 
youth  by  subtle  use  of  such  words  as  "  flamboyant," 
"  noisy,"  "  banal." 

Doro  began  to  regard  any  quick  call  of  life  as 
something  to  be  avoided,  or  indulged  in  when  Pan 
was  far  away,  and  even  then  with  a  little  ashamed 
nervousness ! 

Yet  she  missed  nothing ;  the  days  were  only  time 
in  which  to  see  Pan,  to  wait  for  him. 

Occasionally  they  had  some  hours  together ;  late 
in  the  season  Pan  offered  to  drive  her  down  to 
Hurstpoint. 

Doro  was  delighted,  lone  agreeably  interested. 

"For  one  night  only,"  Pan  said,  "you'll  need 
very  little  luggage,  Doro." 

The  day  dawned  airless  anil  goldenly  hot,  but 
on  the  sunny  road  there  was  a  little  cool  wind. 

They  lunched  at  a  hotel  where,  alas,  the  lunch, 
according  to  Pan,  was  everything  a  lunch  should 


254  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

not  have  been;  but,  luckily,  that  cloud  faded,  and 
when  they  drove  the  car  over  a  heather-covered 
common,  and  stopped,  and  sat  down  on  the  purple 
carpet,  life  became  wonderful  again.  Pan  had  taken 
off  his  cap;  he  lay  back,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  head,  and  smiled  at  her. 

"  I  should !  "  he  said  encouragingly. 

They  both  laughed;  Doro  bent  over  and  kissed 
him. 

"Again  and  yet  again,"  he  quoted  lazily,  his 
golden  eyes  glowing;  tye  stretched  up  a  hand  and 
slid  it  behind  her  neck,  thrusting  his  fingers  deep 
into  her  soft  hair.  "  God,  you're  a  delightful  thing, 
Doro." 

"  Heavens,  you're  a  darling,  Pan,"  Doro  mocked 
him  gaily. 

She  sat  up,  leaning  back  on  one  hand,  the  other 
straying  on  Pan's  shoulder ;  he  kissed  it,  and  Doro, 
looking  down,  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  intense 
tenderness  at  the  sight  of  that  dark,  bent  head ;  she 
drew  it  close  to  her  breast  and  they  sat  so,  and 
she  kissed  Pan's  hair  gently.  Near  them  a  may  tree 
stood,  flinging  its  shadow  across  their  resting-place ; 
the  dense  blueness  of  the  summer  sky  pierced  the 
branches,  a  bird  sang  somewhere,  a  bee  lumbered 
past,  giving  to  the  afternoon  that  sense  of  country 
sweetness  and  peace  its  murmur  always  wakes. 

Idly,  Doro  glanced  at  the  heather,  already  tipped 
here  and  there  with  the  paleness  of  exhaustion  be- 
neath the  sunshine ;  in  the  distance  trees  stood  out 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  255 

sharply  against  the  sky;  from  far  away  a  train 
whistled,  bringing  to  their  intimacy  that  odd 
"  nearer "  sense,  the  very  faint  reminder  of  the 
outer  world  conveys.  In  a  patch  of  shade  the  car 
stood,  again  an  emblem,  in  some  way,  of  their 
"  togetherness."  In  it  they  had  driven  from  Kane- 
lagh  on  that  night  when  all  the  stars  had  seemed 
to  light  her  soul. 

Of  all  time  did  not  this  hold  the  hour  when  Pan 
and  she  could  talk  of  the  days  to  be? 

She  said  peacefully  and  utterly  naturally : 

"  Pan,  darling,  where  shall  we  have  to  live?  Here, 
or  abroad  somewhere?  " 

He  did  not  start  actually,  but  inwardly  he  felt 
jangled,  irritated  by  this  forcing  of  a  decision  on 
her  part,  however  unconscious. 

He  drew  away  after  a  moment  on  the  pretext  of 
getting  his  cigarette  case  from  his  pocket. 

"  Where  would  you  like  to  live?  "  he  asked  care- 
fully. 

"  Any  place  is  Heaven  if  you  are  near  me,"  Doro 
teased  him;  but  at  his  movement,  at  some  latent 
tone  in  his  voice,  one  of  those  incomprehensible,  in- 
describable little  shadows  fell  in  her  heart  which 
only  a  lover  knows ;  she  sensed  that  Pan  had  "  gone 
away  "  from  her,  and  yet  had  no  definite  ground 
for  believing  it. 

Bather  shyly,  she  said: 

"  I — I  suppose,  after  all,  even  we  will  have  to 
settle  down  some  day." 


256  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Pan  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  You  sound  optimistic,  my  dear,  I  must  say ! " 

His  eyes  were  narrowed  as  they  were  wont  to  be 
in  moments  of  annoyance,  his  cigarette  seemed  to 
be  burning  badly,  he  threw  it  away,  and  it  lit  a 
living  path  of  heather  to  a  point  of  amethyst  flame ; 
the  flame  died. 

Doro  said  a  little  nervously : 

"  You  aren't  very  encouraging,  darling,  yourself, 
after  all." 

In  answer,  he  pulled  her  down  suddenly  beside 
him  and  leant  his  cheek  to  hers. 

"  No,  I'm  not.  I'm  a  beast  to  you  sometimes,  I 
know.  I  deserve  that  you  should  hate  me,  but  I  love 
you,  love  you,  love  you.  Do  you  hear?  " 

How  could  she  fail.to  hear  and  be  swayed  by  the 
words  she  loved  best  of  any? 

Pan  forced  her  gently  back  on  to  the  heather  and 
leant  upon  his  elbow  gazing  at  her. 

She  smiled  at  him  under  white  lids,  her  eyes,  in 
their  lashes'  soft  shade,  a  glint  of  deep  blue-green 
loveliness. 

"  Open  them,"  Pan  commanded,  "  wide !  " 

Doro  obeyed  laughingly,  shyly;  she  opened  them 
widely  and  the  strong  golden  light  filled  them :  Pan 
had  once  said  that  when  most  she  loved  him  her 
eyes  were  greenest. 

"  Is  it  all  right? "  she  questioned  with  tender 
gaiety. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  257 

He  was  gazing  at  her  sombrely;  she  looked  so 
young  and  yet  so  intensely  alluring  with  those  inno- 
cently passionate  eyes.  .  .  . 

He  bent  and  kissed  her,  locking  his  arms  about 

. 

her  with  a  fierce  pressure,  almost  hurting  her  with 
long,  hard  kisses. 

She  forgot  the  question  of  the  hour  entirely ;  the 
world  seemed  a  place  where  purple  heather  met  a 
purple  blue  sky,  where  softest  summer  winds  blew 
from  a  far  sea,  and  where  love  was  a  joy  so  wild  it 
seemed  to  hold  pain  within  its  depths. 

They  stayed  in  one  another's  arms ;  Pan  reached 
for  a  cigarette  and  they  smoked  it  between  them, 
talking  with  that  careless  content  that  only  lovers 
know,  laughing  at  nothing,  endlessly,  boundlessly 
happy. 

Cyclists  passed  on  the  far  road,  other  cars. 

"  Who  cares?  "  Pan  asked  with  superb  disdain. 

"  It  must  be  tea-time,"  Doro  said  at  last.  "  Dar- 
ling, we  must  hurry;  we'll  never  reach  home  for 
dinner." 

"  Who  cares?  "  Pan  repeated,  his  ardent  eyes  on 
her  face.  "  Do  you?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  she  confessed,  "  as  long  as  we  are 
together,  I  do  not  care  if  we  never  reach  anywhere." 

Pan's  darkly  golden  eyes  flashed  suddenly. 

"  I  wonder  if  women  ever  mean  that  sort  of 
remark?  "  he  said  slowly. 

Doro,  unpacking  the  tea-basket,  laughed  over  her 
shoulder. 


258  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  This  woman  means  it,"  she  said ;  "  you  and  I — 
you  and  I — Pan  ..." 

She  came  and  knelt  before  him. 

"  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  a  veil  had  dropped  be- 
tween us  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  we  stood 
on  one  side  of  it,  blessedly,  beautifully  alone." 

"  You  think  lovers  have  a  right  to  be  that ," 

he  hesitated,  under  his  tan  he  had  paled  a  little ;  "  I 
mean,  you  think  they  can  make  laws  for  themselves 
— that  they — as  you  say,  can  shut  themselves  off 
from  the  world;  have  the  right  to  live  for  them- 
selves?" 

"  Yes— I  think  I  meant  that." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  little  puzzled  gaze ;  her 
speech  had  been  a  speech  of  love ;  it  had  held  love's 
meaning  for  the  moment,  and  so  served  its  purpose : 
Pan's  insistence  on  its  gravity  was  rather  con- 
fusing. 

She  made  tea,  and  they  picnicked  delightfully. 

"We  must  go,"  Doro  said,  "Pan  darling;  we 
must,  honestly." 

"  Why?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  angel,  it's  seven,  Hurstpoint  is  far,  and  if 
we  are  going  to  see  them,  it  seems  hardly  courteous: 
to  arrive  so  late  we  cannot  see  them  because  they'll 
have  gone  to  bed !  " 

"Suppose  we  don't  go  at  all?"  Pan  suggested 
lazily ;  he  did  not  look  at  her. 

"  Just  go  back,  you  mean?  "  Doro  said  dubiously. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  259 

"No,  go  on — somewhere  else.  Just  you  and  I. 
Have  one  evening  all  to  ourselves ;  one  perfect  even- 
ing to  remember  all  the  time  we're  not  together.  We 
could  say — " — he  made  a  great  pretence  of  hunting 
for  matches:  "Ah,  here  they  are — we  could  tell 
lone  we  had  a  breakdown.  ...  Of  course,  if  you'd 
rather  not "  His  voice  grew  flat,  disinterested. 

"  I — I — it  would  be  heavenly  sweet,"  Doro  said 
with  eager  anxiety  to  meet  his  every  wish.  "  Dar- 
ling, I  would  love  it,  but — but — doesn't  it  sound — 
wouldn't  it  seem " 

"  Oh,  possibly  it  would.  It  was  simply  a  rather 
'wild  idea ;  it  seemed  beautiful.  ..." 

He  had  risen,  now  he  stretched. 

"  Come  on,  I'll  take  the  basket." 

All  the  joy  and  "  nearness  "  had  gone ;  Doro  felt 
guilty,  piteously  shy,  and  punished. 

She  went  to  him  and  put  her  arms  about  him. 

"  Oh,  darling,  yes,  if  you  like — if  really  it  won't 
matter,  and  you  think  lone  won't  be  coldly 
furious " 

"  She  need  not  know,  Beautiful,"  Pan  said,  his 
voice  caressing  again,  his  eyes  glowing.  "  Doro,  you 
mean  it?  Listen  then,  Sweetness:  We'll  put  up  at 
some  inn  and  dine  together,  and  then  I'll — I  can 
cut  off  and  sleep  in  another  pub,  any  old  place, 
and  come  in  for  breakfast  in  the  morning.  And  if 
lone  asks  we'll  tell  her — and  if  she  doesn't,  and  it's 
a  thousand  to  one  chance  she  will,  or  take  any 
interest  at  all,  we'll  lie  low  and  '  say  nuffinV  And 


260  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

we'll  have  had,  what  we've  never  had,  one  whole 
gorgeous  evening  together.  Beautiful,  you  are  the 
most  generous  giver  in  the  world." 

But,  in  the  car,  speeding  in  search  of  the  "  perfect 
little  place  "  Pan  had  "  heard  of,"  Doro  felt  that 
nameless  dislike  for  this  project  which  was  so  seem- 
ingly fair  and  sweet. 

"  You  really  think  it  won't  matter — that  lone 
would  understand?  "  she  questioned  bravely,  yet 
fearfully,  dreading  Pan's  bleak  look  of  disinterest. 

But  he  looked  at  her  now  with  tender  amusement : 

"  Little  frightened  baby !  All  right,  we'll  go  on, 
my  darling,  and  render  unto  lone  a  faultless  recital 
of  our  blameless  outing!  How's  that?  " 

"  Oh,  darling !  "  Doro  said,  kissing  his  sleeve. 

"  Then  laugh  with  the  jasmine  eyes !  Hang  it  all, 
I  believe  you're  frightened  of  me ! " 

"  I  am  not ! "  Doro  cried.  "  Oh,  Pan,  look,  the 
sunset." 

Pan  slowed  the  car  down  and  they  gazed  together 
at  the  sky,  which  was  like  a  field  of  flowers :  laven- 
der, lilac,  mimosa,  and  the  soft  scarlet  of  deep 
peonies ;  high  up,  a  star,  like  a  primrose,  shone. 

"  We  must  be  moving,"  Pan  said ;  "  a  quarter  to 
eight.  Hullo,  an  inn,  I'll  get  some  water,  I  think; 
the  radiator  seems  pretty  warm." 

He  went  into  the  inn  and,  after  a  time,  an  old 
man  brought  a  can  of  water,  spilt  it  successfully 
over  the  nickel-work,  and  accepted  a  shilling  grate- 
fully. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  261 

"  Now  to  pace !  "  Pan  said ;  his  voice  held  a  note 
of  excitement;  he  caught  Doro  close  in  one  hand 
and  laughed  down  into  her  face. 

"  All  the  dawns  and  sunsets  which  have  ever  been 
are  not  as  beautiful  as  you,"  he  said. 

The  car  took  a  hill  at  a  splendid  rush,  coughed, 
hesitated,  stopped. 

"  Damn,"  Pan  said ;  he  lifted  the  bonnet. 

"  Out  of  petrol,  all  but,"  he  said ;  "  we  will  run 
back  to  the  inn ;  she  will  do  that." 

The  car  went  back  well ;  the  old  man  reappeared. 

"  I  guessed  you'd  be  back,"  he  said  amiably,  "  by 
the  smell  o'  that  oil  when  you'd  gone !  An'  a  pool 
in  the  road — but  it  is  all  done  dried  up  now — I 
dunno ! " 

He  was  evidently  ignorant  of  petrol's  power  of 
evaporation. 

Of  course,  there  was  no  petrol,  and  the  nearest 
village  was  some  miles  away,  and  there  might  be 
none  there. 

Pan's  dark  eyes  were  laughing ;  he  said  to  Doro : 

"  Pate's  decided,  darling !  " 

It  seemed  so  useless  now  to  argue,  to  complain 
or  worry. 

"Pate  has  decided,"  Doro  echoed  a  little  wist- 
fully. 

"  Kind  fate !  "  Pan  smiled. 

He  went  inside  the  small,  spotless  bar  to  see  the 
host  and  order  rooms,  dinner,  arrange  everything. 


262  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Doro  sat  on  a  bench  beneath  a  hedge  of  most 
aspiring  hollyhocks  and  wondered  about  things. 

Convention,  in  its  strongest  form,  had  never  in- 
terested her,  for  the  excellent  reason  that  she  was 
not  vitally  impressed  by  the  obvious  details  of  an 
everyday  life ;  she  had  never  worried  about  conven- 
tion because  she  had  always  been  conventional! 

Of  course,  Pan's  love  and  hers  was  different  from 
everyone  else's  in  the  world;  and,  of  course  (her 
sense  of  honour  prompted  that  admission!)  every- 
one else  thought  exactly  the  same  thing  about  their 
love! 

Still,  there  "was  a  difference — he  was  in  the 
family 

And,  after  all,  it  was  not  a  crime  to  have  a  break- 
down and  stay  at  an  inn — only  it  was  a  disad- 
vantage ! 

Then  Pan  reappeared ;  he  came  over  to  the  bench 
•and  sat  down  beside  her  and  said  in  that  repressed 
voice,  which  had  such  power  to  move  Doro's  heart : 

"  Let  us  have  one  evening  of  all  our  love ;  it  has 
been  given  us,  Loveliest,  after  all — Doro — be 
happy." 

His  cool  hand  slid  over  hers,  imprisoning  it  on 
the  sun-hot  wooden  seat. 

"  Doro,  look  at  me." 

In  that  look  Doro  forgot  convention,  the  small 
worry  of  her  mind. 

The  white  road  was  empty  far  and  near:  Pan 
kissed  her  full  on  the  mouth ;  he  "  left "  a  little  kiss 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  263 

with  her  and  drew  away  from  her,  smiling  mis- 
chievously. 

"  You  have  a  room  all  musty  and  clean  and  dread- 
ful !  "  he  assured  her  blithely.  "  Texts  to  the  right 
of  you,  texts  to  the  left  of  you,  baby !  Yellow  soap, 
and  a  dimity  frill  to  your  dressing-table." 

"  And  where  do  you  go?  "  Doro  asked. 

"  Heaven  knows !  "  he  laughed. 

A  little  black-haired  woman  took  Doro  upstairs 
to  the  room  Pan  had  described  so  exhilaratingly ; 
he  had  not  erred  about  its  charms.  Certainly  this 
inn  laid  no  claim  to  being  a  godless  hostel. 

But  they  dined  in  the  garden,  and  a  car  passed. 
Doro  heard  it  go. 

"  We  could  borrow  some  petrol,"  she  said. 

"  Next  car !  "  Pan  promised. 

But  the  next  had  passed  too  before  they  could 
rise  from  the  table. 

Ten  o'clock  chimed  as  they  ordered  coffee  from  an 
obviously  disgruntled  landlady. 

When  it  came  it  was  undrinkable. 

Pan  went  into  the  bar  to  give  a  last  order  con- 
cerning the  petrol  a  "hand  "  was  charged  to  fetch. 

"'E's  callin'  'ere  about  five,  sir,"  the  landlord 
said;  "young  feller  off  of  a  farm  as  lives  near 
Fresham.  'E'll  ride  on  his  bike  an'  get  you  'nough 
to  tow  you  along." 

Pan  thanked  him. 

"  Leave  the  door,  will  you?  "  he  suggested.  "  We 
shall  come  in  soon,  but  it's  so  cool  outside." 


264  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Doro  and  he  walked  in  the  old  rambling  garden ; 
it  had  a  sweetbriar  hedge,  and  tobacco  plants  and 
stocks;  beyond  it  an  orchard  lay. 

"  Eden ! "  Pan  half  whispered,  laughing  a  little. 

The  car  stood  in  an  open  shed  just  beside  the  high 
gate  which  shut  off  the  garden  from  the  orchard. 

"Wait!"  he  said. 

He  fetched  the  rug  from  the  car,  and  together 
they  entered  the  orchard. 

It  smelt  pungently  fragrant ;  the  moon  had  risen 
and  flooded  through  the  branches,  starring  the  deep 
grass  with  pale  pearls  of  light. 

Pan  opened  the  r,:g  under  a  tree. 

"  Now,  are  you  not  glad  we  had  to  stay?  " 

He  spoke  against  Doro's  lips  and  felt  her  shiver 
at  his  nearness. 

"  Are  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,  oh  yes." 

They  lay  close  to  one  another,  Doro's  head  upon 
Pan's  outflung  arm,  their  faces  so  near  a  sigh 
seemed  sighed  between  them. 

"  This  is  living,  this  is  love,"  Doro  whispered. 

"  This  is  madness,"  Pan  laughed,  kissing  her  eyes, 
her  hair,  her  throat.  "  Ah,  Doro — Doro ! " 

Across  his  mind  wild  thoughts  raced,  faded, 
seemed  to  blaze  like  fire.  Had  he  ever  meant  this 
hour  to  come?  Should  he  be  afraid  to  take  it  now? 
Other  men  had  no  such  scruples.  After  all,  Doro 
loved  him — all  the  passion  was  not  his.  Could  they 
not  live  abroad?  She  was  his  last  love;  this,  he 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  265 

knew,  was  the  passion  of  life.  Kexf ord — Hurstpoint 
— one  had  but  one  life,  and  it  was  passing — passing. 

"Oh  Pan,  oh  Pan,  this  is  Heaven,  to  feel  you 
close,  to  be  able  to  kiss  you  in  the  darkness,  and 
not  dread  someone  coming!  Ah,  yes,  I'm  glad  we 
are  here.  I  never  loved  you  before  as  I  love  you 
now — to-night " 

"  Is  that  true?  "  he  asked  her,  straining  back  his 
head  to  look  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  know  it.  Can  you  not  feel  it?  " 

"  Let  me  feel  it." 

His  hand  slid  like  a  kiss  from  her  throat  to  her 
heart,  and  it  seemed  to  Doro  as  if  he  cupped  her 
heart  in  that  clasp  and  took  it  wholly  to  himself. 

He  had  drawn  the  pins  from  her  hair ;  it  fell  over 
both  their  faces,  a  warm  fragrant  veil,  as  they 
kissed  and  kissed. 

"  You  belong  to  me — we  belong,"  Pan  murmured. 

"  Pan,  never  let  me  go,  grow  tired  of  me." 

"  I  shall  be  dust  when  I  loose  you,"  he  said  som- 
brely, "  but  you " 

"  How  can  you?  "  Doro  cried,  her  voice  breaking 
with  that  hurtness  only  passionate  love  when  it  is 
doubted  can  feel.  "  How  can  you?  All  my  life  lies 
in  your  hands.  I  don't  mind;  I  do  not  care  what 
you  do  with  it,  as  long  as  it  mingles  with  your  life. 
As  I  love  you  I  shall  never  love  again.  I  could  not 
love  anyone  else ;  all  I  have  ever  felt,  suffered,  has 
been  for  you.  It  is  you,  you,  you  every  hour,  every 


266  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

minute,  and  oh !  you  know  it  so  well,  and  yet  you 
taunt  me " 

"  If  I  doubt  it  is  because  I  fear  so,"  Pan  said 
hoarsely,  and  he  bent  his  head  suddenly  so  that  he 
laid  his  face  on  her  knee. 

She  looked  down  at  him  with  a  mingling  of  ten- 
derness and  passion,  and  somehow  pity;  then,  very 
gently,  she  drew  him  up  until  his  lips  touched  hers ; 
that  token  of  surrender,  the  evidence  of  such  a  love, 
was  like  a  point  of  flame  set  to  the  repressed  fire  in 
Pan's  heart.  He  took  Doro's  face  and  held  it  so, 
her  chin  gripped  by  his  hand,  and  then  his  mouth 
pressed  hers  so  deeply,  so  hardly,  that  she  gave  a 
little  cry,  but  Pan's  kiss  stifled  it  into  soundless- 
ness.  His  lips  stayed  on  hers;  he  seemed  to  be 
drawing  her  life  blood,  her  heart-beats,  the  very 
essence  of  her  being  from  her. 

At  last  he  released  her,  and  they  stayed  so.  Pan 
put  a  shaking  hand  over  his  eyes. 

But  still  upon  them  both  was  the  magic  of  that 
kiss ;  they  seemed  to  kiss  again  without  volition,  as 
naturally  as  they  breathed,  and  again  the  kiss  grew 
closer ;  it  became  a  demand,  a  surrender,  a  joy  past 
bearing. 

"  This  is  love — this  is  love :  feel  my  heart — reel 
it,"  Doro  said. 

The  words  quivered  on  her  lips. 

Her  voice  came  to  Pan  as  if  from  a  great  dis- 
tance, but  it  brought  in  its  echo  the  memory  of  her 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  267 

as  a  being  apart  as  well  as  this  wildly  sweet  young 
lover  whose  kisses  rivalled  his  own. 

He  said,  striving  for  control : 

"  You  must  not  feel  so — your  heart " 

It  leapt  like  a  soaring  flame  under  his  hand. 

"  Doro,"  he  said  helplessly. 

"  I  believe  I  was  born  to  love  you,  just  for  that, 
only  for  that!  Oh!  if  I  could  die  now,  utterly, 
utterly  happy.  Pan,  do  you  remember  the  poem, 
1  In  the  Orchard,'  we  read  one  day  together  in  the 
library  at  Hurstpoint?  We  should  have  read  it 
here.  Then,  I  didn't  know.  Now,  I  do.  I  know  now 
what  it  means — '  life  running  over,  life  near  to  go  ' : 
to  want  the  person  you  love,  to  love  and  love  you, 
even  if  it  hurts.  Oh,  Pan,  can  you  believe  to-morrow 
can  ever  come  and  we  wake  and  find  this  hour  has 
gone?  Never  to  return,  to  be  re-lived.  One  little 
hour — it  dies  and  life  flows  over  it  and  goes  on " 

Pan  put  an  arm  about  her,  and  they  sat  so,  lean- 
ing against  the  tree,  cheek  to  cheek. 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  he  said  gently.  "I  can  see 
you  now  in  the  library,  the  firelight,  the  gold  and 
white  of  you,  and  your  shining  eyes,  so  really  like 
jasmine  leaves,  the  little  golden  stars  dancing  in 
them  from  the  fire.  We  thought  we  loved  then — 
but  now " 

She  slid  an  arm  round  his  neck,  and  ruffled  his 
thick,  short  hair. 

"  Does  one  remember !  "  he  said. 


268  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  We  are  in  the  orchard  now,"  Doro  murmured. 
She  began  softly : 

"  Leave  go  my  hands,  let  me  catch  breath  and  see; 
Let  the  dew-fall  drench  either  side  of  me; 

Clear  apple-leaves  are  soft  upon  that  moon, 
Keen  sidelong  like  a  blossom  on  the  tree; 

Ah  God,ah  God,that  day  should  be  so  soon " 

A  thrill  shook  her  at  the  beauty  of  the  words, 
and  she  kissed  it  upon  Pan's  lips.  Close  to  him,  her 
mouth  touching  his,  she  went  on,  quickening  again 
to  the  thought  of  the  poem : 

"  The  grass  is  thick  and  cool,  it  lets  us  lie. 
Kissed  upon  either  cheek  and  either  eye, 

I  turn  to  thee  as  some  green  afternoon 
Turns  towards  sunset  and  is  loth  to  die. 

Ah  God,  ah  God,  that  day  should  be  so  soon." 

"  It  will  be  dawn  early,"  Pan  said ;  "  the  moon  is 
failing  now." 

"  I  never  want  this  night  to  die.  I  want  you  to 
love  me  all  over  again." 

"  Love  me,  though  dusk  begin  and  dark  retire — 
Hold  my  hair  fast,  and  kiss  me  through  it  so !  " 
Half  laughing,  the  shaken,  low  laugh  of  love,  she 
drew  a  mesh  of  her  hair  about  them  both. 

"  Kiss  me — love  me ;  swear,  for  ever." 

"  For  ever.  Doro,  listen.  We  have  to-night,  it  is 
ours — give  it  to  me  wholly,  make  it  the  night  un- 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  269 

forgettable  of  both  our  lives.  Let  me  kiss  you  till 
the  dawn.  I  swear  to  you  by  all  that  is  holy,  you 
shall  never  regret  it.  I  swear  to  you  I  will  be  good 
to  you — Doro — = — " 

She  had  drawn  a  little  away.  Shy  fear  struggled 
with  her,  adoration,  and  a  strange  sense  of  for- 
lornness. 

A  bird  stirred  somewhere ;  Pan  moved  restlessly. 
In  the  moonlight  she  saw  his  face,  white,  with  bril- 
liant eyes. 

Uncertainly,  she  whispered  his  name. 

He  caught  her  to  him  desperately. 

"  Doro — our  night — it  will  soon  be  dawn " 

Together  they  walked  through  the  soft  lush  grass ; 
a  shape  loomed  before  them,  moved.  Doro  gave  a 
little  cry ;  she  heard  Pan  say  reassuringly :  "  It  is 
all  right,  darling." 

He  went  forward ;  there  was  a  scamper  of  hoofs, 
a  glitter  of  frightened  eyes,  and  the  colt  bolted 
away,  and  Pan  uttered  some  word  sharply  as  he  fell. 

Doro  knelt  beside  him. 

"  Darling,  you  aren't  hurt?  " 

He  did  not  answer. 

Doro  called  again.  She  put  her  arms  round  him, 
and  lifted  him  up.  His  eyes  were  closed ;  across  one 
temple  a  black  mark  showed,  a  little  blood  was 
running  from  it. 

"  Pan — Pan "  Doro  whispered  frantically ;  a 

fear  which  choked  her  breath  seized  her.  She  knelt 


270  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

on,  holding  Pan  in  her  arms,  whispering  his  name 
over  and  over. 

And  suddenly  she  knew. 

He  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"  The  lack  of  Justice  in  life  is  one  of  life's  greatest 
mysteries.  .  .  .  We  are  always  finding  excuses  or  reasons 
for  acts  of  Providence  which,  to  our  own  inner  conscience, 
are  the  reverse  of  Just  and  Right." — RICHARD  KING. 

it  T  AM  sorry,"  lone  said  with  delicate  clearness, 
"  really  sorry,  my  dear  Tony.  You  see,  I 
had  no  idea." 

Kexford  had  come  up  to  town  to  go  to  Tattersall's 
and  had,  naturally,  called  in  at  Berkeley  Square.  G 
and  he  had  heard  reports  of  Doro's  success;  the 
fame  of  her  loveliness  had  spread.  Tony  had  said 
nothing,  but  had  been  entirely  delighted,  and  G 
had  said  a  great  deal,  and  that  had  delighted  him 
too. 

Tony,  immaculate,  if  hot,  had  been  hailed  by  lone 
with  real  pleasure;  she  might  scoff  about  him  and 
G,  she  might  ridicule  them  to  their  faces,  she  might 
also  be  an  indiscriminate  hostess,  a  most  liberal 
critic,  but  in  her  there  was  an  unalienable  adhesion 
to  her  own  breeding,  the  "  clan  "  instinct  had  never 
died  or  even  faltered. . 

She  chose  to  be  every  sort  of  woman  for  her  own 
amusement,  but  she  remained  au  fond  a  great  lady. 

Tony  had  asked  for  Doro  at  once,  and  lone  had 
commiserated  with  him  on  having  missed  her,  since 
Pan  was  driving  her  at  that  moment  to  Hurstpoint 
for  the  night. 

271 


272  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Into  Tony's  face  an  almost  blasted  look  of  rage 
had  come ;  it  was  as  though  his  own  rage  struck  him 
and  disfigured  him. 

He  conquered  himself  and  said  nuskily : 

"  To  Hurstpoint,  begad !  Damn.  It's  like  his 
insolence !  How  long  has  it  been  going  on — has  he 
been  here?  " 

In  a  lightning  flash,  when  he  had  explained  the 
truth,  lone  realized  the  seriousness  of  this  matter. 
She  knew  Tony's  worst  suspicions  to  be  just;  she 
knew  herself  to  have  been  reprehensively  careless. 

"  But  Doro  knows  Pan  is  married,"  she  said. 

"  She  may ;  I'm  not  sure.  When  I  sent  him  off 
he  was  over  here  about  a  divorce.  We  never  spoke 
of  the  matter.  That's  not  the  point  now,  either." 

"  No,"  she  answered  simply,  and  added :  "  What 
do  you  mean  to  do?" 

She  made  no  effort  to  suggest  comfort,  nor  did  she 
utter  soothing  platitudes  about  things, "  never  being 
so  bad  as  they  seemed,"  and  so  on.  She  was  a  woman 
who  knew  her  own  men. 

"  I'll  get  off  back  at  once,"  Tony  said  grimly. 

He  kissed  her  absently  and  marched  out. 

lone  walked  to  the  window  aimlessly ;  abominable, 
the  whole  thing.  Why  had  not  Tony  trusted  her  in 
the  first  instance?  But  why  should  he  have  done? 
If  it  had  been  Nicholas,  she  would  have  spoken  of 
it  to  no  one.  Every  thought  she  had  damned  Pan 
and  despised  him.  And  inevitably  perhaps  she 
thought :  "  If  the  girl  had  been  one  of  us,  really 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  273 

one  of  us,  this  could  not  have  happened."  Though 
she  knew  this  was  unfair ;  some  obscure  "  family  " 
sense  made  her  very  resentful  of  Tony's  agony  of 
spirit  about  Doro. 

Cars  passed  and  repassed  in  the  square ;  a  barrel 
organ  was  playing  somewhere.  lone  had  a  hundred 
and  one  things  to  do,  appointments,  visits  to  pay; 
she  stayed  beside  the  window. 

She  felt  both  distressed  and  affronted,  and  her 
dignity  of  life  had  been  struck  at ;  this  sort  of  rather 
cheap  affair  should  not  happen.  She  resented  it 
extremely,  and  her  resentment  fixed  itself  definitely 
upon  Doro's  secrecy. 

Finally,  with  an  expression  of  bored  annoyance 
on  her  face,  she  went  up  to  her  room  and  rang  for 
her  maid  to  dress  her. 

But  all  the  afternoon,  despite  a  rather  amusing 
rencontre  with  a  man  who  had  adored  her  for  years, 
and  despite  pleasant  places  and  people,  she  could 
not  shake  off  a  little  sense  of  anxiety. 

The  butler  told  her  when  she  returned,  just  in 
time  to  change  for  dinner  after  a  dash  to  Hurling- 
ham,  that  "  Lord  Rexford  had  rung  up  to  ask  what 
time  Mr.  Greville  and  Miss  Doro  had  started?  " 

"  I  told  his  lordship,"  the  man  added. 

Again  that  "  little  "  sense  stirred  uneasily. 

It  woke  to  definite,  sharp  anxiety  when,  upon 
her  return  home  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  she 
found  Tony  ringing  up  from  Hurstpoint  to  say  Doro 
and  Pan  had  never  arrived. 


274  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"Tony — wait — don't  ring  off,"  lone  said  miser-' 
ably,  uncertain  what  to  say,  suggest.  "  D'you  think 
an  accident  has  happened?"  she  hazarded. 

Neither  had  anything  to  say  in  reality.  lone 
passed  a  sleepless  night,  and  rang  up  Hurstpoint 
at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Tony  had  no  news  for  her. 

A  spasm  of  intense  anger  against  Pan  and  Doro 
seized  lone.  She  raged  inwardly,  as  women  of  her 
type  do,  most  rarely  permitting  themselves  to 
express  anger.  At  eight  the  telephone  rang  again. 
A  man's  voice,  a  stranger's  voice  asked : 

"  Is  that  Mrs.  Lascelles?  " 

"Yes.   Mrs.  Lascelles  is  speaking  now." 

"  I  am  Dr.  Holcott.  I  am  speaking  from  my  house 
at  Moor  Green,  a  village  between  Godalming  and 
Petworth.  If  you  can,  will  you  come  down  here 
immediately?  Your  brother,  Mr.  Greville,  has  been 
taken  seriously  ill." 

"  Yes,  I  will  come.  Who  is  with  him?  " 

There  was  a  pause.  The  voice  answered 
cautiously : 

"  A  lady." 

lone  heard  the  receiver  click. 

She  told  her  husband  to  ring  up  Tony  while  she 
dressed.  The  call  came  through  rather  quickly. 
Tony's  voice  said : 

"  Doro  is  here.  Pan  was  killed  by  a  horse's  kick 
last  night." 

"  I  am  coming,"  lone  answered  mechanically. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"La    necessite    empoisonnc    les    maux    qudle   ne   pent 
guerir" — LA  ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

NO  influence  could  avert  an  inquest.  The  Barley 
Mow  Inn  and  the  little  village  became  famous. 
Mrs.  Lawe,  the  landlord's  wife,  was  never 
tired  of  giving  reporters  a  full  account  of  all  that 
had  happened.  Doro's  face  looked  out  at  the  world 
from  every  half -penny  rag;  the  "  romantic  secret " 
of  her  birth  and  adoption  was  published  far  and 
wide,  and  many  other  things  were  published,  con- 
tradicted, published  again,  and  so  on,  until  the 
interest  in  the  affair  died. 

It  died  slowly,  and  lone  suffered  a  rage  of  humil- 
iation whilst  it  lasted. 

She  went  everywhere  it  was  possible  to  go  whilst 
mourning  Pan's  death,  and  she  maintained  an  even 
composure  before  her  world;  she  stayed  in  town 
until  the  accustomed  date  for  her  departure.  Doro 
was  obliged,  or  certain  technical  reasons,  to  be  at 
Berkeley  Square  for  the  last  week  of  June. 

She  had  ceased  to  mind  where  she  was;  Hurst- 
point  had  been  like  a  prison.  Tony  had  spoken 
seldom,  G  was  ill,  even  the  servants  looked  at  her 
askance.  No  one  quite  understood  what  had  hap- 

275 


276  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

pened  that  night  at  the  inn — or,  rather,  everyone 
believed  what  they  secretly  wished  to  believe,  and 
that  is  nearly  always  the  worst. 

lone  was  as  just  to  Doro  as  it  was  in  her  to  be; 
but  she,  too,  had  suffered,  and  suffering  had  changed 
her  brilliance  to  a  certain  light  bitterness  which 
wounded  and  stung. 

Doro  knew,  as  if  lone  had  said  the  words  to  her, 
that  she  would  never  forgive  her  for  having  created 
"  a  disgraceful  scandal "  in  the  family. 

It  was  the  one  unforgivable  sin.  Doro  ceased  to 
care,  finally,  what  she  thought  or  what  anyone 
thought.  After  any  tragedy,  great  or  small,  there 
follows  a  period  of  exhaustion  in  which  is  enfolded 
banality,  a  tepid  dreariness,  simply  by  reason  of 
contrast. 

This  exhaustion  settled  on  Doro.  She  lived 
through  the  days  in  a  sort  of  grey  trance,  a  cloak  of 
misery  about  her  soul,  a  deadly  weariness  in  her 
body. 

Occasionally,  in  the  night,  she  would  wake  and 
remember,  and  feel  for  one  second  the  intense  sor- 
row which,  at  first,  had  nearly  cost  her  her  reason. 
She  would  re-imagine  that  last  long  look  at  Pan 
when  he  had  lain  so  white,  so  still  in  his  coffin,  the 
chiselled  beauty  of  his  face  a  wonderful  mask  in 
death. 

lone  had  insisted  with  disinterested  composure 
that  she  should  take  up  her  music  again. 

"  You  must  do  something." 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  277 

Cavini,  astute  as  only  a  bourgeois  Italian  or 
Frenchman  who  has  made  himself  known  can  be, 
jhad  wondered  greatly  about  Doro;  the  truth  con- 
icerning  her  birth  had  intrigued  him  greatly. 

He  rallied  her  on  her  slackness. 

"  What  does  it  matter? "  Doro  asked  bleakly. 
"What  does  anything  matter,  or  will  anything,  a 
hundred  years  hence?  " 

Nothing  mattered  now,  nor  did  anyone  care  what 
[became  of  her. 

She  seemed  to  belong  to  no  one.  Tony  rarely 
spoke;  lone  was  unapproachable;  she  had  sinned 
jpast  forgiveness. 

Gazing  at  Cavini,  a  thought  struck  her  for  the 
first  time. 

For  weeks  she  had  been  seeking  an  escape;  sud- 
Idenly,  it  seemed  to  her,  a  way  opened. 

Cavini  had  been  searching  for  some  music;  he 
Iturned  and  gave  a  snort  of  contemptuous  clearness. 

"Who  talks  of  a  hundred  years  hence?"  he  re- 
torted. "  I  speak  of  to-day,  and  the  fact  that  you 
are  neglecting  your  voice.  Oh,  you  women  with  your 
sentimentality,  it  would  not  matter  if  it  did  not 
affect  you  vitally.  But  it  does.  Something  has 
happened  to  you,  and  you  refuse,  therefore,  to  take 
care  of  the  loveliest  gift  a  woman  can  have.  My 
God,  how  wasteful — and  how  silly,  too !  For  if  one 
thing  fails,  why  not  take  up  another?  Nothing  sat- 
isfies so  much  in  this  life  as  Art,  when  one  sue- 


278  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

ceeds  in  it.  And  you,  you  have  the  voice  to  carry 
you  where  you  wish." 

Doro  gave  a  hard  little  laugh. 

"  Then  let  it — and  you  guide  me,"  she  said  com- 
posedly, but  two  brilliant  spots  of  colour  flamed  in 
her  cheeks. 

Cavini  said  testily : 

"  I  do  not  understand." 

"Ah!  like  most  people,  now  you  are  asked  to 
prove  your  words  you  draw  back." 

"  What  words — how?  "  Cavini  ejaculated. 

Doro  rose  and  stood  beside  the  piano. 

"  You  said  just  now,  if  one  thing  failed,  why  not 
take  up  another,  and  that  nothing  succeeds  like  suc- 
cessful Art.  And  you  believe  in  my  voice.  Very 
well,  take  it,  me,  train  both  of  us  for  the  opera." 

Cavini's  little  eyes  glittered  for  a  moment,  then 
he  said  unctuously : 

"  Ah !  you  jest,  signorina.  Your  people,  what  of 
them?" 

"  I  do  not  belong  to  them,"  Doro  said  slowly ;  and 
as  she  spoke,  for  the  very  first  time  in  her  life,  she 
realized  that  truth.  Sudden  burning  tears  filled  her 
eyes ;  through  them  she  gazed  at  Cavini. 

'*  Are  you  willing  to  do  this?  "  she  asked  him 
defiantly. 

He  opened  his  hand  with  a  deprecating  gesture. 
Already  his  astute  mind  was  weighing  the  possible 
loss,  wealthy  profits,  consequent  upon  his  exploita- 
tion of  Doro,  should  he  entertain  her  suggestion. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  279 

And  as  she  stood  there,  the  faint  sunlight  touch- 
ing her  hair,  her  face  etherealized  by  its  sadness, 
sheer  artistic  admiration  swept  aside  every  other 
consideration.  At  last  there  would  be  a  young  Mimi, 
slight,  alluring,  passionately  appealing,  and  Louise 
—and  Carmen —  and  then  in  Wagnerian  work.  .  .  ! 

He  caught  hold  of  Doro's  hands. 

"  Yes,  and  yes,  and  yes ! "  he  exclaimed,  the 
moisture  of  artistic  perception  glistening  in  his 
eyes,  the  vision  of  triumphant  achievement  in  his 
mind. 

"  Then,"  Doro  said  indifferently,  "  I  want  to  leave 
England  at  once." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"  My  heart  it  was  a  cup  of  gold 
That  at  his  lip  did  long  to  He, 
But  he  hath  drunk  the  red  wine  down, 
And  tossed  the  goblet  by. 

"My  heart  it  was  a  white,  white  rose, 
That  bloomed  upon  a  broken  bough; 
He  did  but  wear  it  for  an  hour, 
And  it  is  withered  now." 

JOSEPHINE  DODGE  DASKAM. 

ff  T"^UT  my  dear  Tony,  you  cannot  stop  her," 
J   lone  said  quietly. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  sofa, 
upon  which  he  was  lying,  recovering  from  an  attack 
of  illness.  His  head  was  still  obliged  to  be  kept  low, 
and  now  he  twisted  about  seeking  to  get  comfort- 
able, making  himself  appear  an  unwieldly  mound  of 
heaps  and  bumps,  covered  by  a  singularly  brilliant 
Chinese  dressing-gown. 

"  My  dear,  don't  take  it  so  hard." 

Tony  answered  nothing.  After  one  violent  speech 
of  denunciation  and  reprisal  he  had  scarcely  spoken. 
Doro  still  visited  him,  and  he  still  ignored  her. 

His  attitude,  "  I'll  bring  her  round,"  was  the  last 
by  which  to  influence  her  at  this  time. 

Both  were  supremely  unhappy,  both  quite  intent 
on  having  their  own  way.  lone,  irritated  to  the 

280 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  281 

verge  of  a  breakdown,  was  the  buffer  between  them. 

Already  Doro's  plans  had  been  arranged ;  she  was 
to  leave  for  Paris  during  the  week.  Of  this  Tony 
kne.w  nothing ;  he  still  clung  obstinately  to  the  idea 
that  Doro  could  do  little  because  he  could  render 
her  penniless. 

He  kept  this  fact  to  himself,  proposing  to  reveal 
it  only  as  a  last  weapon. 

Doro  went  into  Tony's  room  this  evening  whilst 
lone  was  there ;  she  was  in  a  linen  walking-dress. 

lone  was  wrapped  in  a  pale  lemon-coloured  lace 
teagown;  both  looked  listless. 

Tony  humped  himself  up  and  glared  at  them. 

If  either  had  felt  the  possibility  of  amusement, 
this  "  I-must-have-my-own-way — small-boy  "  atti- 
tude would  have  been  amusing ;  but  Doro,  aware  she 
must  tell  him  of  her  departure,  lone  tired  out  by 
the  exercise  of  a  patience  which  was  unnatural  to 
her,  merely  felt  the  strain  of  everything,  its  weari- 
ness and  futility. 

lone  lit  a  cigarette  and  handed  her  case  to  Doro. 
Through  the  open  windows  the  soft  roar  of  Picca- 
dilly sounded ;  the  trees  in  the  square  had  a  heavy 
covering  of  grey  dust;  the  air  seemed  exhausted 
by  the  fierce  summer  heat. 

Tone's  dark  eyes  questioned  Doro  not  unsym- 
pathetically.  Personally  she  considered  Doro  was 
doing,  if  not  a  wise  thing,  a  thing  which  held  less 
unwisdom  than  any  other  course.  It  was  manifestly 
impossible  for  her  to  take  up  life  at  Hurstpoint 


282  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

under  the  existing  circumstances;  it  was  equally 
impossible  to  propose  marriage  for  her  for  the  same 
reason.  Somehow  Doro  must  obtain  means  to  help 
her  forget,  live  down. 

lone  knew  life  does  not  run  to  schedule,  as  Tony 
appeared  to  think  it  did,  and  that  youth  because  it 
was  youth  is  not  malleable  (and  is,  indeed,  when 
love  has  touched  it,  the  least  malleable  of  all 
things) :  his  other  outlook,  that  all  youth  needed 
to  heal  its  wounds  was  substitution,  was  equally 
fallacious  in  Doro's  case,  and  he  was  equally  pig- 
headed on  this  point.  He  would,  when  he  chose  to, 
forgive  Doro — get  her  anything  she  wanted. 

He  was  about  to  put  this  fact  into  words  when 
Doro's  voice,  low  and  not  quite  steady,  said : 

"  Darling,  I  am  leaving  with  Cavini  for  Paris 
to-morrow." 

Tony  stared  at  her,  then  he  said  hoarsely  : 

"  Indeed." 

"  Yes,  and — and,  Tony  darling,  won't  you,  won't 
you  try  to  understand,  and  let  me  go  feeling — feel- 
ing  "  She  faltered  and  stopped. 

Tony  said  with  sledge-hammer  clearness : 

"  If  you  go  you  don't  come  back.  You  understand 
that.  If  you  become  a  singer  you  cease  to  be  my 
adopted  daughter.  That's  all  I  have  to  say." 

Unconsciously  lone  had  placed  herself  beside 
him.  To  Doro  they  seemed  two  foes  in  that  moment. 

"  Tony,"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  283 

He  believed  her  to  be  weakening.  He  did  not 
know  that  there  are  tears  born  of  highest  courage 
as  well  as  those  of  weakness ;  he  determined  to  push 
home  his  advantage. 

"  If  you  go,  you  go  penniless,"  he  said.  "  An' 
you  and  I  are — through — it  is  finished." 

Doro  turned  blindly  and  sought  the  door;  she 
got  out  of  the  room  somehow  and  reached  her  own. 

Tony  said  sharply  to  lone : 

"  She'll  come  round." 


CHAPTER  XX 

"  Thou  giv'st  thy  laughter  only  unto  one. 

He  hath  no  eyes  to  see. 
Give,  when  his  bitter  jest  with  thee  is  done, 
Thy  tears  to  me." 

MARY  COLENDRE. 

NICHOLAS  sauntered  in  to  Eex  after  lunch. 
Eex  was  just  changing  to  go  down  to  the 
river ;  he  was  pulling  on  a  blazer  as  Nicholas 
stated  bitterly : 

"  Here's  a  pretty  go ! " 

Eex  looked  at  him ;  he  had  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  It's  from  Mother — here." 

Eex  read  it ;  he  was  conscious  that  Nicholas  was 
whistling  between  his  teeth,  strolling  about  and 
moving  things,  looking  for  a  certain  brand  of 
cigarettes. 

He  folded  the  letter  and  said  composedly : 

"  There,  in  that  porcelain  box.  I  say,  Nicholas,  I 
shall  go  up  to  town." 

"  Whaffor?  "  Nicholas  asked,  Ms  mouth  full  of 
cake. 

"  Oh,  I  must,"  Eex  answered,  and  began  changing 
into  town  kit  swiftly. 

It  was,  however,  not  until  after  eight  that  he 
managed  to  reach  Berkeley  Square;  he  asked  for 
Doro. 

284 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  285 

"I  believe  Miss  Greville's  in  the  gardens,  sir," 
the  butler  said.  "  She  asked  for  the  key  a  little 
while  back." 

"  I'll  go  across,"  Hex  said. 

He  saw  a  white  dress  in  the  bloomy  darkness,  and 
walked  in  that  direction. 

He  halted  near  and  called: 

"  Doro ! " 

His  heart  leapt  wildly  as  he  heard  the  gladness 
in  her  voice. 

"Kex— you?" 

«  j  » 

He  went  and  sat  on  the  green-painted  curved  seat 
beside  her ;  he  wanted  to  shake  hands,  but  his  hands 
were  trembling;  all  of  him  had  trembled  at  her 
voice ;  he  put  his  entire  will  into  the  effort  to  obtain 
complete  mastery  of  himself  again.  All  the  way  up 
in  the  train  he  had  been  practising  his  part  in  this 
scene;  he  had  conceived  his  role  to  be  first  that  of 
a  listener,  then,  little  by  little,  they  would  discuss 
everything  very  quietly — and  then — he  would  tell 
her  the  real  object  of  his  visit. 

He  had  written  to  her  as  soon  as  he  had  heard  of 
Pan's  death — he  had  written  again  and  again  and 
received  no  answer;  it  had  been  impossible,  by  his 
father's  orders,  for  him  to  leave  Oxford.  Doro  had 
never  received  his  letters.  He  was  wholly  uncertain 
of  her  attitude  towards  Pan ;  it  was  impossible  for 
him,  knowing  so  little,  to  rank  her  affection  at  its 
value,  but  he  felt,  when  he  thought  of  Pan,  that  still 


286  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

black  hatred  which  is  like  lightning  striking  the 
steel  of  a  man's  nature. 

Pan  was  dead,  but  he  had  injured  Doro  by  his 
death ;  and  indirectly  that  injury  had  driven  her  to 
this. 

Rex  said  now,  leaning  a  little  forward,  his  hands 
gripped  one  within  the  other : 

"  Are  you  going  to  tell  me?  " 

"  There  isn't  anything  to  tell,  except  that  I  leave 
for  Paris  to-morrow  with  Cavini  and  his  wife." 

"You  are  going  away?"  Rex  asked  almost 
vacantly.  "  So  soon?  " 

"  Yes,  I  imagined  you  had  heard,  and  had  come 
to  say  good-bye.  Tony  refuses  to  see  me  again." 

She  turned  to  him,  and  he  knew  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

He  put  out  his  hand,  and  let  it  rest  secretly  on 
her  dress ;  just  to  touch  her  so  gave  his  anxiety  rest, 
seemed  to  heal  his  desperate  longing  a  little. 

A  tear  fell  on  his  hand. 

As  if  it  had  been  a  key  unlocking  the  gates  of 
his  pent-up  passion,  words  rushed  to  his  lips. 

He  heard  them,  recognized  the  violence  of  his 
pleading,  abasement,  almost  with  self-amazement. 

But  he  would  not  draw  back  now;  it  was  only 
when  Doro's  reiterated  cry,  "  Rex — oh,  Rex !  " 
reached  his  mind  through  its  encompassing  blaze  of 
passionate  adoration  that  he  faltered  and  stopped. 

About  them  there  was  that  stillness  which  a 
garden  can  hold  in  the  midst  of  a  hurrying  world ; 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  287 

the  fragrant  peace  was  like  a  keen  mockery  to  Kex ; 
he  moved  restlessly,  and  as  he  did  so  Doro  rose. 

He,  too,  stood  up. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  don't  go — yet. 
Don't,  don't  leave  me — like  this." 

"  But  everything  is  spoilt ;  you  don't  understand. 
Oh,  why,  why  did  you  tell  me  this?  " 

He  said,  very  low  and  breathless : 

"  Beautiful,  don't  you  realize  I  couldn't  help 
myself?  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you  anything.  I  came 
just  to  try  and  comfort  you — and  then — you  cried — 
and  I  could  see  your  face  in  the  dusk,  and  about 
you  there  clings  some  scent  and  it  drifted  into  my 
brain,  I  think — you  were  all  sweetness  and  tired 
loveliness." 

"Don't,  oh  don't!" 

She  did  not  mean  to  be  cruel,  but  this  scene  with 
Kex  was  an  anti-climax;  it  was  almost  incredible 
and  yet  it  was  true.  Love,  such  love  as  this,  which 
spent  itself  in  words  of  wildest  adoration,  which 
abased  itself  utterly ;  Eex,  the  boy  she  had  laughed 
at,  known  so  well  with  easy  affection.  She  was 
angry  if  she  was  definitely  anything,  and  yet  angry 
and  sorry  at  once ;  he  had  thrust  upon  her  a  burden 
she  felt,  when  already  she  was  bowed  down  with 
weariness. 

He  began  an  impetuous  speech. 

"  Please — please,"  she  said. 

He  gave  a  little  bitter  laugh,  the  sheer  banality 


288  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

of  that  word  was  cruel,  as  banality  always  is,  must 
be,  to  young  love. 

"  You  can't — you  can't  leave  me  like  this — dis- 
miss my  love  with  a  *  please,'  as  if  it  were  an  offer- 
ing so  paltry  you  could  refuse  it  as  you  refuse  a 
servant's  offer  of  a  new  dish !  It  does  not  matter  to 
you ;  it  is  my  life,  all  my  life,  do  you  hear?  " 

"  You  think  so  DOW,"  Doro  said  bitterly,  hurt  in 
her  turn  by  his  denunciation.  She  made  a  great 
effort  to  be  kind,  to  overcome  her  weary  consterna- 
tion and  help  Kex  if  she  could. 

"  Bex  dear,  don't  you  see,"  she  said  gently,  "  I — 
I  have  finished  with  love.  I  can't  talk  about  it, 
even  to  you." 

He  faced  her  with  white  stubbornness;  his  own 
love  was  all  that  mattered. 

"You  never  knew  love,  you  never  met  it,"  he 
burst  out,  contempt,  appeal,  anguish  beating  behind 
his  low  voice.  "  I  don't  care  what  you  say,  how  you 
feel,  you  must  listen.  I  know  this  is  true,  I  know 
I  am  right — love  which  is  real,  which  will  last,  is 
love  like  mine,  '  young,'  as  you  call  it,  mocking  at 
it  for  its  youth — that  youth  which  gives  it  half  its 
wonder.  For  it  is  young  love  which  loves,  and  never 
counts  the  loving,  or  the  giving,  or  the  suffering; 
other  love,  later  love  doesn't  do  that — cannot.  Later 
love  compares  and  contrives,  and  there  is  no  head- 
long divinity  about  it,  either  of  passion  or  foolish- 
ness ;  it's  just  a  sort  of  emotion  that's  often  rather 
furtive,  and  afraid  to  let  go  and  uncertain  if  it  will 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  289 

last  itself.  As  I  love  you,  I  should  never  love»again ; 
all  love  that  comes  after  a  love  like  this  will  be  only 
half  real.  All  that  is  real,  and  true,  and  willing  and 
humble  and  proud  in  me  beats  in  my  love  for  you. 
And  you  turn  aside  from  it  because  it's  young! 
There's  one  thing  " — his  voice  held  smothered  bit- 
terness— "  it's  a  fault  I'll  grow  out  of !  " 

"  Oh,  why  will  you? — oh,  Rex,  don't  be  so  difficult, 
so  hard — Eex,  I'm  so  unhappy." 

Kex's  breath  caught  in  his  throat ;  he  was,  at  that 
instant,  very  near  to  tears  himself. 

Then  he  stammered  in  a  whisper : 

"  Oh,  my  darling,  my  Beautiful — don't — don't — 
I  can't  bear  you  to  be  unhappy ! " 

He  put  his  arms  round  her  so  gently  they  scarcely 
touched  her,  and  yet  gave  her  the  impression  they 
were  a  protection,  just  as  he  had  meant  they  should. 

Yet,  in  that  chivalrously  tender  gesture  he  could 
feel  Doro  trembling,  and  every  atom  of  adoring 
virility  in  him  thrilled  to  that  knowledge. 

"  But  I  am,"  Doro  said  like  a  child. 

As  if  she  had  been  a  child  he  soothed  her;  he 
made  her  tell  him  all  her  plans. 

But  he  had  his  arms  about  her,  and  as  they 
spoke  together,  his  clasp  grew  a  little  closer;  his 
face  was  near  to  hers  in  the  soft  gloom,  that  scent 
of  which  he  had  spoken  almost  despairingly  thrilled 
him  now  with  its  sweetness. 

"  There  isn't  anything  else  to  do,  Rex,"  she  told 


290  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

him  despairingly.  "  I  cannot  go  back  to  Hurstpoint, 
and  lone — of  course  she  does  not  want  me." 

"  You  could  marry  me,"  Rex  said  with  fictitious 
calmness,  "  and  be  free. 

"  I  mean  it,"  he  added  fixedly ;  "  I  would  give  you 
my  word.  I  came  here  to-night  on  purpose  to  tell 
you  that;  it  was  the  real  reason  for  my  coming. 
'Doro,  will  you  do  it?  " 

"  No,  and  no,"  she  said,  breaking  from  him.  "  Do 
you  think — do  you  suppose  one  forgets  like  that?  " 

He  tried  to  regain  the  old  trust,  but  it  was  im- 
possible now. 

In  silence  they  walked  to  the  house  and  bade 
"  good-bye." 

Rex  held  Doro's  hand  against  his  heart. 

"Always,"  he  said,  "like  that.  Do  you  under- 
stand? And  I  shall  never  give  you  up.  Good-bye." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"  What  is  the  use  of  April — what  the  use 

Of  her  wild  dreams,  unless  you  bear  your  part? 
The  spring  has  let  a  thousand  voices  loose, 
And  shall  not  one  find  way  into  your  heart? 

GERALD  GOULD. 

IF  Doro  had  longed  for  change  of  outlook,  scene, 
surroundings,  mental  atmosphere,  she  obtained 

it. 

She  had  told  Cavini  of  Tony's  .refusal  to  coun- 
tenance her  action  in  taking  up  a  career,  and  the 
obvious  sequel  Cavini  had  foreseen. 

He  had  all  the  small  Italian's  commercial  sense 
and  lack  of  discrimination  with  regard  to  hotels. 

Later  on,  when  Doro  became  famous ;  ah !  then ! 
But  for  now,  when  no  one  was  famous,  and  fees 
were  still  fond  visions  of  a  far  future,  why  not  a 
pension  ? 

He  therefore  repaired  with  his  wife  and  Doro  to 
one  of  those  high  houses  in  a  meagre  street  in  the 
wrong  quarter  of  Paris,  and  there  Doro  began  to 
train. 

To  say  she  was  disillusioned  would  be  to  describe 
the  state  of  her  feelings  poorly — she  was  both 
crushed  and  infuriated  by  her  surroundings,  and 
secretly  disgusted. 

291 


292  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

She  had,  even  though  she  would  have  denied  it 
to  herself,  expected  a  certain  glamour.  She  found 
dust,  and  inefficient  service,  and  cheap,  greasy  food 
instead,  and  ceaseless,  ceaseless  work,  and  endless 
chatter  from  Signora  Cavini,  who  was  none  too 
pleased  with  her  husband,  and  who  went  in  deadly 
fear  lest  Doro  should  prove  a  failure. 

Another  thing:  no  longer  was  Doro  the  spoilt 
and  admired  pupil.  She  was  now  Cavini's  instru- 
ment, upon  which  he  meant  to  play  his  way  to  fame. 

"My  God!  use  your  brain,"  he  would  storm. 
"  What  are  looks,  a  voice,  even  teaching  such  as 
mine,  if  you  sing  a  burial  song  like  the  chorus  of  a 
Vaudeville  refrain?  Open  your  mouth,  open  your 
mouth — you  are  not  drinking  soup !  " 

He,  too,  had  his  moments  of  doubt,  and  he  took 
them  out  on  Doro. 

No  one  wrote. 

Then,  by  chance,  she  met  David  Shropshire  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix. 

In  a  moment  his  hat  was  off,  his  round,  good- 
tempered  face  beaming  down  upon  her. 

"  I  say,  what  luck!  Come  and  lunch?  " 

They  went  to  the  Cafe  Parisien,  and  Doro  had  the 
first  good  lunch  she  had  eaten  since  she  had  left 
London,  also  the  cleanest. 

Cavini  had  been  peculiarly  domineering  that  day. 
It  was  cold;  life  seemed  incredibly  dreary;  she 
looked  at  David  with  eyes  which  saw  him  most 
kindly. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  293 

And  she  thought  of  Rex,  who  was  David's  type, 
insomuch  that  both  were  lean,  clean  mortals,  with 
an  air  of  pleasant  distinction  and  very  happy 
manners. 

In  the  old  days  she  had  thought  David  stupid. 
Bex  had  never  been  that,  never  could  be.  To-day, 
however,  David's  conservation  had  the  agreeable- 
ness  of  novelty  after  the  Cavinis'  outpourings  of 
complaints  or  mediocre  gossip.  He  talked  of  the 
life  Doro  had  known  so  well.  She  wondered  a  little 
shyly,  and  yet  with  real  curiosity,  if  he  would  tell 
her  again  he  loved  her. 

He  did  not ;  instead,  outside,  when  he  had  hailed 
a  taxi  for  her,  he  said  gaily : 

"  I  suppose  when  the  great  night  comes  I'll  be 
admitted  at  the  stage  door,  what?  " 

Doro  made  some  laughing  reply.  Definitely,  quite 
surely  she  knew  that  in  Shropshire's  eyes  she  was 
"  different "  now,  and  that  he  would  no  longer  allow 
himself  to  wish  to  marry  her. 

She  did  not  know  how  she  knew,  but  she  did.  As 
it  happened,  she  was  quite  right. 

At  Christmas  Rex  sent  her  a  box  of  scarlet  roses, 
which  filled  the  pension  with  perfume,  and  asked  if 
he  might  come  to  Paris. 

She  wired  back,  "  No." 

She  spent  the  dullest  half-year  of  her  life,  and 
was  actually  glad  when  Cavini  announced  that  they 
would  leave  for  his  mother's  home  in  Italy  the 
following  week.  His  wife  and  mother  were  lifetime 


294  ALMOND-BLOSSOM^ 

enemies,  and  Signora  Cavini  showed  a  definite  re- 
luctance to  acquiesce  in  this  plan,  which  swept  the 
pension  like  a  tornado. 

There  was,  however,  deep  method  in  Cavini's 
madness.  Averado,  the  impresario,  was  at  his  villa 
convalescing,  and  that  villa  happened  to  be  above 
the  modest  dwelling  of  Cavini's  parents  on  the  hill- 
side at  Fiesole. 

Cavini  was  a  being  subject  to  sudden  attacks  of 
a  spiritually  gambling  nature  when  he  "  believed  " 
a  certain  thing  would  happen  because  he  had 
thought  of  it  suddenly,  or  had  thought  of  it  slowly ; 
any  reason  did  which  served  Cavini's  end. 

In  this  instance  he  told  himself  Averado  would 
hear  Doro  by  chance,  be  enchanted,  and  offer  to 
place  her. 

With  that  luck  which  attends  few  human  foolish- 
nesses, almost  this  very  thing  happened. 

Only  Averado  saw  Doro  before  hearing  her. 
When  he  discovered  the  green-eyed  vision  to  whom 
he  had  blown  surreptitious  kisses  was  the  owner  of 
the  voice  which  roused  his  keenest  commercial  in- 
stincts, he  could  scarcely  believe  his  own  good 
fortune. 

He  forgot  gain,  caution,  his  health,  and  bore  down 
on  the  modest  house  of  the  Cavinis  like  a  fat  whirl- 
wind. 

Doro  was  in  the  studio  alone,  and  he  kissed  her 
at  once,  and  thanked  God  she  was  alive.  The 
Cavinis  entered  on  this  scene,  and  for  the  next  ten 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  295 

minutes  the  place  was  a  pandemonium,  in  which 
Cavini  smiled,  Averado  beamed,  Signora  Cavini  and 
old  Cavini  laughed  and  chatted  together. 

Doro,  at  a  shouted  command  from  Cavini,  sang 
a  scale.  Suddenly  Averado  embraced  her  again,  and 
this  time  she  gently  disengaged  herself.  He  was 
quite  Italian  in  his  culinary  appreciation,  as  well 
as  his  knowledge  of  music,  and  her  own  taste  in 
food  had  remained  so  far  severely  Anglo-French. 

But  the  day  was  to  be  a  gala,  and  it  was  cele- 
brated accordingly;  and  all  at  once  Doro  found 
herselMattered  by  everyone,  feted,  acclaimed. 

It  might  have  been  a  first  night.  She  wished  it 
had  been. 

Thereafter  she  practised  with  Averado,  and  he 
sent  into  Florence  for  the  great  Ortez  to  sing  with 
her. 

In  less  than  a  week  the  tiny  operatic  world  in 
and  about  Florence  had  become  Doro's  setting,  and 
she,  too,  began  to  call  everyone  "  carissima  " ;  she, 
too,  became  accustomed  to  quick,  meaningless  em- 
braces. At  last  the  life  began  to  claim  her,  and  she 
forgot  to  be  unhappy  within  herself. 

Averado  discussed  the  future  with  Cavini.  He 
had  not  made  a  big  fortune  by  altruism,  nor  by  any 
other  unworldly  methods,  and  his  knowledge  of 
humanity  was  as  great  as  his  knowledge  of  music. 

"  Spain,  Madrid,"  he  said,  waving  his  manicured 
hand  at  Cavini,  "  the  home-land — the  bird  return- 
ing to  her  nest.  What  a  draw  to  a  sentimental 


296  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

nation!  The  little  Freddy  must  advertise  for  us; 
the  English  have  a  sense  of  bringing  anything  to 
the  notice  of  a  would-be  buyer  better  than  any  other 
nation.  Only  wait — you  will  see ! " 

Madrid  did,  at  any  rate,  for  that  long-suffering 
town  was  placarded  with  posters  in  the  national 
colours  for  weeks  before  Doro's  appearance.  She 
was  billed  as  "  The  new  Diva,"  under  the  name  of 
Dolores,  and  her  connexion  with  the  English  aris- 
tocracy was  not  allowed  to  be  ignored. 

Of  course  she  was  to  sing  "  Carmen,"  and  when 
she  asked  why  "  of  course?  "  Averado  laughed  fatly. 

"All  things  are  vanity,"  he  answered  reassur- 
ingly. "  To  be  popular  is  better  than  to  be  eclectic ; 
only  the  conceited  and  very  wealthy  can  afford  to 
be  that,  the  former  because  it  does  not  matter  what 
such  are,  the  latter  because  it  does  not  matter  either 
in  a  different  way !  But  to  please,  you  must  possess 
the  desire  for  l  universal  oneness,'  though  not  quite 
in  the  sense  our  priests  mean !  " 

He  introduced  Doro  to  the  great  Eachel  Dure, 
who  extended  to  Doro  first  that  gracious  patronage 
an  artist  is  able  to  give  to  a  beginner  in  a  different 
art,  and  later  a  very  real  affection. 

La  divine  Rachel  at  forty-five  was  no  mean  in- 
structress of  life ;  all  that  had  colour,  vividness,  fire, 
any  expression  which  counted,  she  had  drawn 
towards  herself. 

She  was  beautifully  plain,  a  belle  laide  of  great 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  297 

dangerousness,  of  most  passionate  emotions  and 
subdued  sensuality. 

Rumour  granted  her  countless  lovers;  she  had 
had  but  one,  and  he  had  died. 

Of  course  the  world  did  not  believe  in  her  faith- 
fulness; indeed,  few  people  can  believe  that  an 
intensely  vivid  emotionality  can  exist  without 
indulgence  in  headlong  passion.  Yet,  paradoxically, 
most  often  the  one  bars  out  the  other,  for  some 
emotionality  springs,  nine-tenths  of  it,  from  a  keen 
mentality,  a  mentality  keyed  up  to  perceive  and 
accept  the  beautiful  things  in  life ;  whereas  passion 
can  be  roused  by  almost  any  means,  many  un- 
beautiful. 

The  highest  form  of  emotion  breeds  keenest  criti- 
cism; passion  never  leaves  time  to  judge  well  or 
badly.  Rachel  "  gave  "  the  stage  life  to  Doro,  who 
ceased  to  feel  self-conscious  at  last,  and  began  to 
accept  the  new  atmosphere  with  gaiety. 

On  their  way  through  Paris  Doro  stayed  at 
Rachel's  appartement;  it  was  bizarre,  lovely,  ex- 
travagant and  neat — all  qualities  possessed  by 
Rachel's  personality. 

There,  modern  Paris  met  and  adored  itself  and 
one  another. 

There,  Rex  came  to  see  Doro. 

Rachel  claimed  him  at  once;  she  liked  his  fair, 
debonair  good  looks,  his  mind ;  he  was  the  one  per- 
son Doro  found  who  treated  neither  of  them  as  if 
they  were  on  the  stage. 


298  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

She  remembered  David  Shropshire  had  not  done, 
that. 

Tony,  it  seemed,  never  spoke  of  her ;  G  often. 

"  Ah,  because  you  do ! "  Doro  said,  with  rather 
sad  clearness  of  vision. 

She  studied  Rex  as  one  does  when  suddenly  an 
old  friend  is  much  admired  by  a  new  one ! 

He  made  no  least  effort  to  talk  of  love  to  her 
now.  She  half  wondered,  had  he  ever  done  so?  It  all 
seemed  so  far  off  now,»and  ineffectual  somehow. 

On  the  last  evening  of  Doro's  stay  (she  was  to 
leave  the  next  day  for  Madrid)  he  took  her  to  dine 
at  Henry's ;  they  were  to  go  on  to  fetch  Rachel  at 
her  theatre  later. 

"  Shall  we  drive  into  the  country?  "  Rex  sug- 
gested. "  You  won't  be  too  cold?  " 

Already  climatic  conditions  had  become  a  matter 
of  great  importance. 

•   He  only  drove  out  beyond  Armenonville  in  the 
direction  of  Versailles. 

Beside  the  wood  he  stopped  the  chauffeur. 

"  Let's  smoke  a  cigarette  here,"  he  said  to  Doro. 

They  strolled  down  a  little  winding  path;  far 
away,  it  seemed  at  a  great  distance,  the  trees  joined 
so  often,  the  stars  were  shining.  Rex  lit  a  cigarette 
for  Doro;  then  when  she  had  smoked  it  for  a 
moment  took  it  from  her  gently. 

Instinctively  Doro  knew. 

"  Do  not  spoil  our  happy  time,"  she  said  shakenly. 
To  her  surprise  he  gave  a  little  low  laugh. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  299 

"  Spoil  it?  Look  at  me,  Doro." 

It  was  a  challenge. 

She  looked  at  him  standing  straight  before  her, 
his  face  a  pale  blur  in  the  dimness,  but  his  eyes 
ardent,  visibly  shining. 

He  took  her  hands  lightly. 

"  So  you  do  not  love  me — yet?  " 

Doro  met  him  in  the  same  spirit. 

"  Not  yet." 

"  There  is  someone  else?  " 

"  No." 

"  Thank  God !  Then  I  still  hope,"  he  said  always 
in  that  odd,  gaily  controlled  voice,  which  gave  the 
strangest  effect  of  coldness  and  fervour  mingled. 

"  We  ought  to  go,"  Doro  suggested. 

"  Not  yet;  a  little  longer,  just  a  little." 

He  had  not  loosed  her  hands,  but  now  he  freed 
one  of  his  own,  and  deliberately  drew  her  face  to 
his. 

"  You  will  in  time,"  he  whispered.  He  seemed  to 
be  smiling. 

Doro  made  no  answer;  she  could  not  speak.  A 
shyness  had  seized  her,  which  angered  her  by  its 
power. 

"  Kiss  me,"  Rex's  voice  asked. 

She  shook  her  head,  but  her  chin  was  still  cupped 
in  his  hand. 

Then  suddenly  he  kissed  her. 

She  could  feel  all  the  smooth  hardness  of  his 


300  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

young  face  and  all  the  violent  shakenness  of  his 
young  strength. 

He  released  her  gently,  and  said,  panting  be- 
tween the  words  and  yet  in  quite  a  tranquil  voice : 

"  To  remember  me  by ! " 

They  drove  home  talking  of  ordinary  things.  At 
the  theatre  entrance  Hex  said  very  quietly : 

"  You  will  remember !  " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"  //  once  again  before  I  die 

I  drank  the  laughter  of  her  mouth 
And  quenched  my  fever  utterly, 

I  say,  and  should  it  cost  my  youth, 
'Twere  well!  for  I  no  more  should  wait 
Hammering  midnight  on  the  doors  of  fate." 

TRUMBULL  STICKNEY. 

f{  T  T  is  really  true,"  Doro  said.  She  looked  medi- 
tatively at  herself  in  the  glass. 
She  had  arrived,  definitely,  surely. 

All  the  drudgery  was  past,  the  tedious  prepara- 
tion finished ;  the  array  of  months,  years. which  had 
gone  to  make  this  one  night,  the  scheming  and  fore- 
sight of  Cavini  and  Averado,  the  pension  life,  the 
practice — practice — practice. 

Somehow  it  did  not,  any  of  it,  success,  or  work, 
or  boredom,  or  excitement,  seem  to  matter  vitally 
in  this  hour. 

Life  merely  meant  going  on  being  Carmen,  or 
Mimi,  or  Giulietta,  or  Elsa,  or  any  other  heroine 
whose  type  she  was. 

The  lethargy  of  over-excitement  descended  on  her 
spirit  like  a  pall. 

She  sat  in  the  flood  of  light,  gazing  abstractedly 
at  herself  and  seeing  that  other  life  at  Hurstpoint, 
at  Tone's  .  .  .  .and  Pan. 

301 


302  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Work  had  made  her  forget ;  at  least,  it  had  done 
its  inevitable  service — it  had  dulled  her  memory. 

How  long  ago,  oh!  how  endlessly  far  away  it 
was  now,  and  yet  to-night,  recalling  that  time,  she 
seemed  to  feel  that  ghost  of  a  chill  shudder  of  the 
soul  which  is  experienced  when  one  knows  some 
hurt  must  come,  which  she  had  felt  always  there 
when  memory  had  gripped  her  mind — as,  physically, 
one  waits  for  the  recurrence  of  a  pain,  and  at  the 
first  faint  throb  feels  all  one's  body  shrink  away  in 
terror. 

Still  on  her  face  there  were  the  stains  of  Art ;  her 
eyes  were  lilac-circled,  her  lips  encarmined.  She 
looked  long  at  that  face  gazing  so  steadfastly  into 
her  own. 

All  the  heavy  days  were  over  surely — and  yet 

At  any  rate,  the  morning  held  distraction  and 
flowers,  and  notes,  and  Press  notices  and  interviews. 
The  Kitz  was  besieged,  and  Doro  answered  to  the 
call  with  a  swing  of  the  temperament  which  carried 
her  to  the  other  extreme  of  the  night's  sadness. 

Averado  puffed  with  complacency.  That  remark 
so  dear  to  everyone  of  us,  "  I  told  you  so,"  was  his 
to  chant  unceasingly;  his  urbanity  was  like  a  coat 
of  many  colours,  each  more  suave  and  silky  than  the 
last,  to  each  new-comer  offering  congratulations. 

Telegrams  came  from  Rex  and  Rachel,  from 
people  she  had  known  in  town,  and  met  last  at 
Tone's  house,  where  their  conversation  had  skilfully 
avoided  the  actual  mention  of  Pan's  death,  whilst 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  303 

holding  a  note  of  challenge  concerning  Doro's 
actual  participation  in  the  whole  affair. 

She  had  said  then  to  lone : 

"  I  wish  you  could  be  primitively  natural  to  subtle 
people  who  cleverly  suggest  you  are  either  immoral, 
a  fool,  or  secretive !  But  you  can't.  It  would  be  so 
absurdly  melodramatic  when  you  are  insulted  to 
get  up  and  say  all  you  feel  and  leave  the  house 
superbly!  Simply,  it  isn't  done;  all  that  is  left  to 
'you  is  to  suggest  that  the  oleanders  are  looking 
well  or  ask  your  inquisitor  if  she  has  a  cook  still, 
or  some  other  vital  life-question!  And  disliking 
them  virulently  afterwards  doesn't  do  them  any 
harm,  or  you  any  good,  and  that's  so  annoying  too !  " 

To-day,  at  any  rate,  she  had  no  need  to  long  to 
answer  anyone ;  all  the  messages  were  unsubtle  and 
admiring. 

Neither  lone,  G,  nor  Tony  wrote,  however,  and  as 
Doro  looked  from  the  hotel  window  into  the  square 
below,  a  dazzle  of  heat  and  vista  of  emptiness  at  the 
siesta  hour,  the  champagne  sense  of  goldenness  of 
life  seemed  to  have  deserted  her  again. 

Success  had  given  her  something,  but  not  some- 
body, and  she  minded  dreadfully;  she  was  really 
lonely  in  her  hour  despite  the  clamour  of  praise  and 
eddying  excitement. 

She  tried  to  talk  it  out  with  Averado,  who,  big 
and  coarse  in  so  many  ways,  had  a  soul  which  held 
no  commonness,  and  who  had  prevented  her  by  h;s 


304  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

protection  from  applying  the  French  red  and  white 
of  stage  life  too  literally. 

He  patted  her  hand  gently. 

"You  are  over-tired.  Some  divas  try  hysterics, 
you  grow  cynical.  You  have  the  advantage.  So 
have  I;  it  is  hard  work  calming  the  nerves.  For 
you,  there  is  only  discussion  needed.  I  know!  And 
what  I  do  not  know  about  women  you  could  put  in 
a  flea's  hand." 

"  How  dreadful  for  you !  "  Doro  said. 

"  No,  not  so.  I  like  the  learning.  Nothing  is  so 
absorbing  as  temperament  to  watch,  to  exploit,  to 
possess.  Women  who  have  not  got  it  might  as  well 
be  corpses  for  all  of  me.  By  temperament  I  mean 
the  humour  which  has  a  cut  in  it,  tears  which  can 
touch  the  heart,  emotion  which  has  beauty,  passion 
which  is  headlong,  splendidly  heedless;  discreet 
voluptuousness  in  a  woman  is  repugnant.  No,  tem- 
perament is  a  gift  of  the  gods,  and  it  makes  women 
goddesses ! " 

He  patted  Doro  again. 

"  You  have  it — sleeping !  " 

"  I  think  that  it  is  dead,  not  sleeping,"  she  said 
with  assumed  tragicness,  which  sounded  whimsical, 
and  added :  "  I  hope  so,  anyway !  " 

Averado  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Dead !  Ah,  how  I  should  laugh  later  at  myself 
if  I  believed  you,  little  one !  As  well  say  the  stars 
die  each  night  when  they  leave  the  sky.  They 
depart,  but  they  reappear !  So  will  that  '  sleeping ' 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  305 

temperament,  when  least  you  expect  it,  and  again  I 
shall  have  that  glorious  pleasure,  the  intense  enjoy- 
ment of  repeating,  '  I  told  you  so ! ' 

"  You  are  a  dear,  Averado ! "  Doro  told  him 
rather  listlessly ;  he  looked  almost  awkward,  but  he 
was  delighted. 

A  vast  section  of  the  public  firmly  believe  stage 
managers  and  impresarios,  anyone  who  holds  a  com- 
manding position  with  regard  to  the  commercial 
side  of  Art,  to  be  arch  villains,  and  the  generally 
opulent  appearance  of  these  gentlemen  rather  adds 
to  the  impression  of  vice.  Averado  bore  out  his 
claim  to  this  sad  title  in  every  detail :  he  was  big, 
florid,  moustached,  and  diamonded;  he  wore  coats 
with  rich  fur  collars,  and  a  hat  of  such  shine  that 
it  cheered  a  rainy  day;  his  bulk  was  great,  his 
clothes  greater;  he  looked  vulgar,  easy -living,  a 
happy  libertine,  and  whilst  he  was,  in  point  of  fact, 
vulgar  in  some  senses,  he  was,  in  every  other,  of 
primitive  outlook ;  his  humour  might  be  broad,  but 
his  personal  morality  was  narrow.  And  he  enjoyed 
his  reputation  of  a  "  dog  " ;  it  was  far  better  than 
being  one ;  he  led  three  distinct  lives :  his  stage  life, 
in  which  he  judged  no  one ;  his  home  life,  where  he 
possessed  a  husband's  and  father's  privilege  of  judg- 
ing everyone  at  the  top  of  his  voice ;  and  his  private 
life,  in  which  he  enjoyed  his  own  mind.  He  was  of 
small  bourgeois  stock,  and,  therefore,  a  pleasant 
snob,  and  the  fact  that  Doro  had  belonged  to  the 
family  of  a  milord  gave  Averado  a  very  agreeable 


306        .          ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

interest  in  her,  which  again  induced  in  him  a  far 
more  paternal  consideration  than  was  usually  be- 
stowed by  him  on  his  protegees. 

Of  course,  it  was  said  he  was  in  love  with  her,  but 
it  was  always  said  he  was  in  love  with  his  latest 
discovery;  to  the  type  of  public  mind  which  be- 
lieved this  sort  of  thing,  no  actress  or  singer  could 
be  moral,  and  every  manager  must  be  a  Don  Juan. 

"  It  is  all  so  much  more  attractive  for  the  box 
office,"  Averado  said  comfortably.  "  Strange  what 
virtuous  people  will  pay  to  look  at  anyone  they 
think  gorgeously  sinful,  and  yet  refuse  to  add  to 
their  church  donation  for  the  restoration  of  the 
effigies  of  saints !  " 

Doro  was  finding  life  strange  in  jother  ways :  she 
was  appreciating  the  vast  difference  a  background, 
lack  of  it,  can  make. 

At  home,  in  town,  she  had  been  Tony's  daughter ; 
here  she  was  a  singer  who  had  been  born  in  a  cara- 
van, or  near  one,  and  for  the  first  time  she  encoun- 
tered patronage. 

Later,  she  parried  or  paralysed  it ;  at  this  time  she 
was  too  inexperienced  to  deal  with  it,  too  hampered 
still  by  the  tenets  of  the  creed  she  had  forsworn. 

She  discovered  how  "  graded  "artists  can  be,  and 
she  divined  that,  no  matter  how  feted  and  flattered 
they  may  be,  or  how  lavish  their  host's  hospitality, 
they  are  never  entirely  within  the  circle. 

All  her  Hurstpoint  outlook  felt-  aggrieved ;  she 
discovered  herself  to  be  nothing  very  much,  and  a 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  307 

little  of  everything,  and  it  distressed  her  until,  bored 
by  herself,  she  suddenly  dashed  to  the  far  extreme 
and  began  to  entertain  as  all  the  opera  world  did. 

At  a  big  supper  party,  given  in  her  honour,  she 
met  Savardi,  and  instantly  liked  him. 

"Women  always  do,"  he  said  quite  frankly;  it 
was  not  possible  to  call  him  conceited,  he  merely 
acknowledged  facts  men  and  women  hurled  at  him 
unceasingly  in  open  admiration. 

The  son  of  an  English  woman  and  a  Spaniard,  the 
owner  of  a  large  private  fortune,  young,  famous  for 
his  sporting  skill,  of  immense  physical  strength,  and 
an  odd,  arresting  mentality,  Savardi  had  had  too 
much  of  everything  all  his  life. 

Miraculously,  it.  had  not  spoilt  him  as  it  might 
have  done;  he  was  too  sure  of  himself,  of  course, 
but  he  would  have  had  to  have  been  an  archangel  or 
a  nonentity  to  have  withstood  his  fate.  As  he  had 
never  tried  to  do  so,  naturally  he  found  it  a  pleasant 
one. 

He  was  twenty-five  when  he  met  Doro,  and  there 
was  a  rumour  of  a  great  match  the  Church  and  his 
Jiouse  were  arranging  for  him. 

He  fell  in  love  with  Doro  at  once;  he  had  done 
it  often  before  when  a  woman  pleased  him.  He  came 
up  to  her  at  the  head  of  the  horseshoe  table,  and 
with  the  very  deftest  mingling  of  politeness  and 
trickery  got  rid  of  her  supper  partner  and  seated 
himself  in  his  place. 

Doro  saw  a  big,  young  man,  whose  very  black 


308  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

hair  made  his  blue  eyes  seem  very  light  between 
their  thick,  short  lashes,  and  whose  mouth  was 
charming;  he  looked  so  strong  that  he  reminded 
her  of  Hercules. 

He  had  perfect  manners  and  spoke  English  fault- 
lessly when  he  chose. 

At  the  end  of  the  supper  he  said  tranquilly : 

"  You  are  the  loveliest  thing  I  have  seen,  and  I 
am  going  to  have  a  tremendous  affair  with  you.  I 
will  call  upon  you  to-morrow,  if  I  may?  " 

He  came,  armed  with  green  orchids  which  he 
gravely  put  into  vases  himself,  explaining  to  Doro 
that  servants  had  no  flair  in  such  matters.  Then  he 
sat  on  a  silken  cushion  at  her  feet  and  kissed  her 
hands  almost  reverently. 

She  felt  unembarrassed  and  amused,  and  rather 
liked  Savardi. 

He  made  her  conspicuous  at  once  by  taking  the 
stage  box  for  the  season,  and  each  night  sending 
orchids  of  the  same  green  and  golden  variety  to  her 
at  the  end  of  the  opera. 

Of  course  she  encouraged  him;  only  women  of 
very  little  emotion,  who  are  admired  by  dull  men, 
fail  to  do  so;  your  normal  woman  simply  cannot 
help  encouraging  a  man  even  when,  from  the  very 
first,  she  is  quite  sure  she  does  not  and  will  never 
love  him. 

It  may  be  selfish,  it  may  be  cruel,  but  life  is  so 
constituted  that  each  of  us  takes  the  gift  we  are 
offered;  if  we  did  not  we  should  go  through  days 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  309 

with  about  as  much  attractiveness  in  them  as  farm 
interests  provide  for  a  town  habitue". 

By  encouragement,  one  means  not  discourage- 
ment; Doro  accepted  Savardi's  orchids,  laughed  at 
his  wit,  let  him  kiss  her  hands,  and  called  him  a 
"  dear  thing  "  and  "  cher  ami." 

It  had  not  occurred  to  her  that  Spanish  men  have 
an  iron  control  of  themselves  because  they  need  it. 

Savardi  found  her  passionately  engrossing;  he 
was  quite  mad  about  her,  and  attempted  no  disguise 
of  the  fact ;  his  own  people  paid  no  attention  to  it : 
naturally  he  must  wander  a  little  before  settling 
down.  And,  of  course,  his  prospective  bride's  rela- 
tives treated  the  affair  in  the  same  way ;  all  the  men 
had  been  similar,  and  many  such  experiences; 
everyone  expected  it  would  cost  Savardi  a  great 
deal. 

He  was  prepared  to  fling  his  fortune  at  Doro's 
feet ;  she  drove  him  to  the  verge  of  frenzy ;  he  could 
not  understand  her  in  the  least. 

She  was  this  opera  singer ;  night  after  night  she 
appeared  to  a  rapturous  public,  was  one  with  the 
life;  and  yet  when  she  received  him  she  was  a 
different  being  entirely,  and  talked  with  him  in  such 
a  way  he  could  not  talk  with  her  in  his  way. 

The  strain  of  this  plain  living  and  high  thinking 
began  to  tell  on  him ;  he  became  thinner  and,  as  a 
result,  looked  more  attractive;  he  lost  the  "fine 
animal "  look ;  it  gave  place  to  a  certain  rather 
pathetic,  eager  ardentness. 


310  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"You  play  with  fire,"  Averado  told  her  most 
admiringly.  No  speculation  in  all  his  career  had 
paid  him  so  well  as  the  launching  of  Doro,  and 
Savardi's  adoration  was,  to  him,  merely  another 
attraction  for  the  box  office ;  he  thought  Doro  quite 
realized  her  r61e  and  Savardi's,  wherein  he  was 
wrong.  To  Doro,  Savardi  was  merely  what  he  was 
— a  man  in  love  with  her,  with  whom  she  was  not 
in  love ;  of  course,  the  affair  would  end  as  it  must ; 
for  the  moment  it  was  rather  exciting.  .  .  . 

Until  Savardi  came  to  her  dressing-room  between 
the  acts. 

She  thought  he  was  pale  and  said  so;  his  looks 
had  not  suffered,  but  his  air  of  supreme  fitness  was 
less  evident. 

"  I  have  a  fever,"  he  said  slowly  in  English. 

Doro's  dresser  slipped  out ;  it  was  a  long  entr'acte, 
and  she  had  been  bribed  beyond  all  reason. 

Also,  she  considered  la  Senorita  an  extremely 
lucky  being,  and  Savardi  was  nearly  as  good  as  a 
saint  to  the  people :  he  was  so  rich  and  good  looking 
and  powerful. 

Doro  had  five  visions  of  him  in  her  winged  mirror, 
and  she  thought  carelessly,  for  the  nth  time,  what  a 
fine  thing  he  was.  He  came  forward  and  laid  his 
hands  on  her  shoulders : 

"  Dolores,  I  love  you." 

His  voice  was  so  controlled,  so  chillily  respectful, 
that  for  the  moment  Doro  felt  actually  amused; 
then  she  looked  up  as  she  felt  Savardi's  long,  per- 
sistent gaze,  and  met  his  eyes;  as  she  did  so,  the 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  311 

pupils  expanded,  covering  all  the  blue,  and  in  that 
instant  she  had  a  certain  intuition  that  there  was  in 
him  a  force  which  other  men  had  not  in  any  such 
like  measure:  something  which  all  the  veneer  of 
modernity,  its  influence,  could  neither  conceal  nor 
temper. 

His  hands  pressed  harder  as  he  said : 

"  I  love  you  as  I  love  the  saints." 

This  again  did  not  sound  frightening,  though 
Doro  could  not  know  Savardi  had  never  yet  loved 
any  human  saint,  nor  ever  would ;  but,  in  his  mind, 
over-wrought,  tired  out  by  his  love,  frustrated 
desire,  the  amazing  uncertainty  of  the  whole  thing, 
religion  and  passion,  the  two  major  forces  in  a  man 
of  his  upbringing,  mingled  inextricably. 

He  bent  lower. 

"  Dolores." 

His  breath  stirred  her  hair,  and  she  shivered  a 
little. 

"  A-h-h !  "  A  long  sigh  escaped  Savardi.  "  At 
last!" 

His  hands  slid  lower  and  clasped  her  with  an 
effect  of  steel-like  gentleness ;  they  touched  her  very 
lightly,  but  she  could  not  escape  from  them. 

His  voice,  breaking  with  passion,  reached  her 
only  faintly. 

"  My  heart,  my  soul,  I  love  you — you  are  like  a 
flower  of  God — only  love  me,  and  I  will  keep  you 
blossoming  on  the  altar  of  my  love — only  love  me. 
Always  you  look  so  cold,  so  much  as  if  you  pos- 


312  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

sessed  yourself.  I  cannot  bear  it  any  longer,  I  tell 
you,  I  cannot." 

And  he  bent  and  kissed  her. 

The  youth,  the  romance,  that  strange  inex- 
tinguishable wish  to  love,  which  is  in  each  of  us  and 
leads  so  many  of  us  to  commit  the  foolishness  of 
our  lives,  were  stirred  by  that  kiss.  Doro's  lips  did 
not  answer  the  kiss,  but  they  received  it,  and  every 
lover  dares  to  hope  from  that. 

The  moment  died,  Doro's  will  reasserted  itself, 
and  she  felt  inconsequently  angry  and  almost 
humiliated. 

She  rose  with  a  swift  movement.  Savardi's  arms 
went  out  to  her ;  his  impassioned,  wilful  young  face 
implored  her;  even  in  this  moment  Doro  recognized 
his  charm. 

She  said  lamely,  intensely  conscious  of  the  crass 
ordinariness  of  her  words : 

"Please — you  must  not — I  should  not  have  let 
you." 

A  flash  of  intensely  resentful  amazement  passed 
over  Savardi's  face.  His  blue  eyes  narrowed;  he 
looked  a  long  look  at  her,  then  went  slowly  for- 
ward, and  as  slowly  put  his  arms  about  her. 

It  was  useless  to  struggle,  but  Doro  strained 
away  from  him ;  he  drew  her  back  inexorably,  near 
to  him  again. 

A  flood  of  Spanish  words  raced  from  his  lips ;  his 
voice  w^as  pleading,  stormy,  adoring,  masterful.  At 
the  end  he  said  in  English,  "  You  shall,"  and  at  that 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  313 

moment  he  had  never  been  more  Spanish  in  his 
heart,  more  pitiless,  savage,  and  headlong. 

He  believed  her  scruples  to  be  a  pretence;  he 
would  not  believe,  as  he  had  told  her  in  vitriolic 
speech,  that  she  could  have  seen  him  all  these  weeks, 
allow  him  to  visit  her  daily,  to  kiss  her  hands,  fetch 
her  from  the  opera  house  in  his  car,  and  yet  that  he 
meant  nothing  to  her. 

"  You  shall  not"  he  said  now,  his  face  so  white  it 
looked  painted,  his  blue  eyes  blackly  blazing,  "  also 
you  shall" 

And  then  deliberately: 

"  You  are  no  longer  your  own,  you  are  mine,"  and 
he  kissed  her  again,  holding  her  crushed  up  against 
him. 

Between  his  kisses  he  adored  her  with  most  beau- 
tiful words,  but  Doro  listened  to  none  of  them ;  she 
felt  furiously  humiliated  with  Savardi,  and  herself, 
for  the  kisses  stirred  her  and  his  magnetism  thrilled 
her,  and  she  hated  his  dominion. 

Then  she  realized  he  was  no  longer  speaking  of 
love,  but  of  Cordova,  and  she  listened.  She  heard 
him  tell  her  they  two  would  go  to  his  villa  at  Cor- 
dova— "it  is  so  lonely,  so  lovely,  the  nightingales 
sing  there  so  maddeningly,  and  the  roses  are  like  a 
sea,  and  the  orange  blossom.  .  .  .  We  will  live  there 
— you  and  I — you  and  I " 

His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper;  he  pressed  his  face 
against  her  hair,  kissing  it. 

And  clearly,  most  poignantly,  and  with  bitter 


314  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

anger  indeed,  Doro  realized  he  was  not  asking  her  to 
marry  him. 

She  did  not  love  him,  she  knew  that,  but  in  that 
instant  she  resolved  that  he  should  love  her  so 
utterly  he  should  sacrifice  everything  for  her;  she 
would  make  him  ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  She  kissed 
him  suddenly. 

As  he  drew  back,  half  dazed  by  the  new  happi- 
ness of  it,  she  said :  "  Come  to  me  to-morrow  at  the 
hotel.  Kiss  me  good  night  now." 

He  kissed  her,  amazedly,  quite  gently,  and  left 
her.  He  believed  his  battle  won,  and  already  he  had 
lost  it !  He  went  home  feeling  the  world  was  a  toy 
wrhich  was  his  to  play  with ;  he  was  at  Doro's  hotel 
by  eleven,  the  green  orchids  in  his  hand,  and,  as 
well,  a  chain  of  emeralds  by  which  the  most  vir- 
tuous woman  must  have  felt  tempted. 

In  the  so  clear  light  he  was  an  attractive  crea- 
ture, so  black  of  hair  and  lashes,  so  healthily 
bronzed,  and  his  charming  mouth  looked  very 
happy. 

As  Doro's  maid  closed  the  door,  he  took  the  floor 
in  a  stride  and  swept  her  into  his  arms,  and  kissed 
her  for  a  full  minute,  then  offered  the  orchids  and 
emeralds. 

"  Nothing  could  match  the  wonder  of  your  eyes, 
but  perhaps  you  will  accept  these  poor  offerings?  " 

He  drew  her  down  on  to  the  sofa,  and  kept  one 
arm  about  her. 

"  It  must  stay  there,  please !  "  Every  bit  of  me  is 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  315 

so  afraid  you  may  not  be  quite  true — that  you  may 
vanish ! " 

In  time  they  reached  the  subject  of  Cordova. 

"  We  will  motor  there,"  Savardi  said  gaily ;  "  it 
will  be  divine,  the  road  is  bad,  but  quite  lovely, 
darling." 

His  voice  grew  lower,  his  eyes  more  ardent : 

"Dolores,  when?" 

"  At  the  end  of  the  season,"  she  said,  smiling  into 
his  eyes ;  "  it  would  be  impossible  earlier." 

"  Nothing  is  impossible,"  Savardi  declared  vehe- 
mently, his  wilfulness  awakened  instantly  by  the 
merest  suggestion  of  a  power  before  which  he  must 
give  way.  "Nonsense — a  contract?  Oh!  I  will 
settle  Averado  naturally.  You  shall  sing  the 
Mignon,  and  then " 

"  Apres  §a  le  deluge !  "  Doro  murmured. 

He  gazed  at  her  with  deep  reproach. 

"  One  should  not  laugh  at  love,  it  spoils  it  a  little 
always." 

Doro  thought  with  cynicism,  having  grasped 
exactly  where  she  and  Savardi  stood  in  relation  to 
one  another,  that,  for  a  man  of  his  outlook,  his  other 
views  were  rather  paradoxical !  She  did  not  in  the 
least  understand  that  Savardi  was  merely  quite 
natural.  He  could  not  marry  an  opera  singer ;  that 
she  and  he  of  course  understood,  but,  Dios !  he  could 
love  one,  and  did. 

It  was  no  question  of  morality  at  all,  simply  of 
custom. 

For  a  week,  Doro  let  him  come ;  she  accepted  his 


316  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

gifts,  which  were  quite  exquisite;  she  took  his 
kisses,  she  let  him  adore  her;  then,  since  he  still 
did  not  make  the  obvious  suggestion,  she  prepared 
to  hurt  him. 

Again,  he  was  in  her  dressing-room ;  he  sat  there 
every  evening  now  during  the  longer  entr'actes. 
Doro  had  been  singing  in  Pagliacci,  and  stood  be- 
fore him  in  her  ballet  dress,  tying  a  wreath  of 
leaves  upon  her  head. 

Savardi  could  stand  it  no  longer;  he  sprang  up, 
and  seized  her  in  his  arms. 

"  You  are  so  beautiful,  I  cannot  bear  it,"  he  said 
in  a  choked  voice.  "  I  cannot  explain,  it  makes  me 
feel  helpless  and  fierce  at  once  to  look  at  you.  This 

cannot  go  on,  Doro,  to-night "  His  eyes  sank 

into  hers. 

"To-night,"  she  echoed,  "yes,  what?" 

His  eyes  fell,  his  lips  smiled  against  hers. 

"Jesus,  Maria,  and  Jos6,"  he  murmured  boy- 
ishly. "  What  does  one  say?  " 

What  he  might  have  said  just  then,  for  he  was  a 
young  man  of  no  mean  talent  of  speech,  was  lost 
for  all  time,  for  the  dresser  rushed  in  fussily,  ex- 
claiming noisily  and  incoherently.  Behind  her  Tony 
entered. 

He  advanced  upon  Doro  with  a  quiet,  "  Well,  my 
girl,"  and  as  she  clung  to  him  silently  he  surveyed 
Savardi  most  directly. 

Savardi  murmured  his  name,  and  Tony  supplied 
his  own.  Savardi's  eyes  neither  widened,  nor  closed 
from  stupefaction,  and  he  kept  his  lips  in  a  hard 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  317 

line,  but  his  brain  reeled  a  little.  No  contretemps 
could  shake  his  self-possession;  he  made  a  young 
man's  adieu  to  an  older  man,  and  bowed  over  Doro's 
hand,  then  he  went  out — to  his  own  despair.  Here 
was  a  complication  which  crushed  even  his  passion- 
ate optimism ;  of  course,  he  had  heard  Doro's  history 
very  early  in  their  acquaintance,  and  certainly  the 
Spanish  part  of  it  had  confirmed  him  in  his  own 
views,  made  his  procedure  indeed  far  easier. 

He  had  believed  and  quite  understood  Doro's  sev- 
erance from  her  English  friends ;  she  was  tout  court, 
an  opera  singer,  and  as  such  meet  to  be  loved  as  he 
did  love  her  and  intended  to  continue  to  love  her. 

Lord  Kexford's  re-entry  into  her  life  changed 
everything;  he  saw  that  with  desperate  clearness, 
and  also  that  Lord  Kexford  was  (he  had  grasped 
that  fact  instantly)  the  man  of  all  men  with  whom 
his  suit,  such  as  it  had  been,  would  stand  least 
chance. 

He  went  to  his  father  and  mother,  who  were 
peacefully  in  bed,  and  with  vehement  gestures,  and 
tears  in  his  eyes,  proclaimed  his  desperation. 

After  endless  discussion,  bitterest  anger  on  both 
sides,  kisses  of  forgiveness,  he  did  what  he  had 
meant  to  do  when  he  had  first  entered  his  parents' 
room  two  hours  earlier. 

He  wrote  a  formal  offer  of  marriage  for  Doro's 
hand  to  Tony,  and  added  that  he  would  do  himself 
the  honour  of  waiting  upon  Lord  Kexford  the  fol- 
lowing morning  at  eleven. 


318  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

This  letter  he  delivered  at  the  hotel  himself. 

Tony  had  inquired  about  him  almost  at  once  .  .  . 
that  is  to  say,  he  had  chosen  a  cigar,  lit  it,  enjoyed 
it  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  asked. 

"And  who  is  Don  Luis  de  Savardi?  Which  of 
'em?" 

"  He's  the  only  son." 

"  Wants  to  marry  you,  I  suppose?  " 

Doro  temporized. 

"  He  is  in  love  with  me." 

Tony  nodded. 

"  Wants  you  to  become  his  wife,  of  course.  I  don't 
wonder." 

He  looked  with  unconcealed  distaste  at  the  dress- 
ing-room ;  indeed,  he  seemed  strangely  out  of  place 
in  it.  He  gave  Doro  no  reason  for  his  amazing 
appearance,  nor  had  she  asked  one :  it  was  so  won- 
derful that  he  had  come. 

"You  don't  like  it?"  he  said  bluffly.  "All  this 
smell,  and  the  heat,  and  all  that?  You  couldn't." 

"  But  I  do.  I  love  it  in  a  way." 

"  Good  God ! "  said  Tony,  not  in  the  least  pro- 
fanely. 

The  idea  seemed  to  stun  him  into  silence  for  a 
little  while ;  he  sat  smoking,  his  eyes  roving,  a  hand 
on  either  knee. 

At  last  he  said : 

"  Why  don't  you  marry  him?  " 

For  one  instant  she  thought  he  meant  Rex,  but 
he  went  on  blandly : 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  319 

"  Decent  lookin'  feller,  sportsman  an'  all  that,  I 
believe.  Why  don't  you?  " 

Doro  had  a  malicious  desire  to  be  perfectly  frank 
and  say :  "  My  dear,  because  he  hasn't  asked  me, 
and  never  means  to,  unless  he  is  forced  to  do  so  by 
my  subtlety !  "  But  she  could  not  hurt  Tony  in  this 
hour,  when  he  had  just  come,  when  it  was  so  won- 
derful a  thing  he  should  have  come. 

"  Don't  let's  talk  about  Savardi,"  she  said  swiftly. 
"  Tell  me  everything,  everything,  darling.  How  are 
Eex,  G,  the  horses,  home?  " 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  Tony  answered.  "  G's  been  a  bit 
seedy,  but  then,  hang  it  all,  as  Walters  told  her, 
time  flies !  Can't  expect  to  race  with  the  two-year- 
olds  for  ever,  y'know !  " 

He  jerked  his  head  towards  the  theatre : 

"  I  was  in  there  all  the  time,  listenin'  to  you." 
His  gaze  grew  keener.  "  I'd  as  soon  hear  you  in  the 
drawing-room  at  home,  Doro." 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  Tony  darling — don't  you  see?  " 

"  We  won't  talk  about  it  yet,"  Tony  agreed  with 
that  obvious  magnanimity  we  use  about  a  small 
thing,  in  order  to  prepare  the  way  for  a  real  demand, 
in  the  hope  the  listener  may  be  lured  into  a  readier 
state  of  acceptance.  "  Early  days  to  discuss  affairs 
yet,  eh?" 

A  funny  little  grin,  which  had  an  element  of  both 
bravado  and  sheepishness,  deepened  the  lines  round 
his  mouth,  as  he  watched  Doro  making  up. 

"  Things  don't  change  much,"  he  said. 


320  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"On  revient  toujours?"  Doro  suggested,  her 
green  eyes  suddenly  brilliant  with  amusement. 

One  of  Tony's  foibles  was  a  pretended  aversion 
to  any  language  save  his  own  ("English  is  good 
enough  for  me,  and  you  can't  find  a  place  to-day, 
don't  care  where  it  is,  where  someone  won't  under- 
stand it !  " )  and  now  he  merely  stared ;  but  it  was 
evident  that  if  he  could  not  grasp  each  word,  certain 
sentiments  curiously  applicable  to  certain  condi- 
tions borne  out  by  Doro's  remark  had  filtered 
through  to  his  brain. 

"  Lot  of  flowers,"  he  remarked. 

"  Oh,  one  is  rather  spoilt." 

"  I  believe  you,  my  dear.  You'll  spare  this  even- 
ing to  sup  with  me?  " 

"  I'd  break  every  engagement  ever  made  to  do  it, 
darling." 

He  was  genuinely  pleased ;  he  said  bluffly,  express- 
ing his  gratitude  after  his  own  manner: 

"  Of  course,  later  one  sees  a  thing  differently." 

Doro,  perfectly  accustomed  to  doing  mental  de-1 
tective  work  of  high  order  in  connexion  with  Tony's 
conversation,  grasped,  after  a  moment's  lightning 
research,  that  this  was  the  amende  honorable  for 
having  parted  from  her  so  bitterly.  She  went  to 
him  and  knelt  before  him,  her  tulle  skirt  billowing 
out,  and  laid  her  hands  on  his  knees ;  she  looked  veryj 
young  in  that  moment. 

"  Dear  Tony,"  she  said  gently. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  321 

Averado  burst  in  at  that  moment,  and  burst  out 
laughing;  he  stood  in  the  doorway  rocking  to  and 
fro,  all  his  diamond  studs  palpitating  like  so  many 
miniature  suns,  his  rings,  glowing  as  he  waved  his 
hands. 

When  he  had  really  finished  his  laugh,  he  apolo- 
gized for  it  as  heartily  in  Italian. 

Tony  sat  on,  surveying  him  with  a  stare  beside 
which  the  salt-conversion  look  of  fame  would  have 
seemed  an  inane  smile. 

Averado's  class  and  type  to  him  were  "  people," 
and  nothing  else,  and  his  outraged  gaze,  after  rest- 
ing on  Averado's  somewhat  unusual  ornaments, 
travelled  to  his  face  and  stayed  there  implacably. 

Doro  nervously  mentioned  his  name,  and  Averado 
at  once  bowed  from  left  to  right.  Tony  was  recover- 
ing from  this  shock  when  Eizini,  the  contralto, 
rushed  in  and  embraced  Doro ;  she  was  an  immense 
woman,  immensely  corseted,  and  perfumed,  and 
uncovered. 

Tony  surveyed  her  with  much  the  same  repugnant 
interest  one  bestows  upon  a  mandrill  or  freak. 

He  rose,  and  muttering  to  Doro  he  would  join  her 
later,  went  back  to  his  seat. 

Averado  and  Kizini  had  had  their  uses,  however. 
Tony  felt  a  comfortable  conviction  that  Doro  could 
not  wish  to  live  in  such  surroundings,  and  that  his 
plea  to  her  to  return  might  not  fall  upon  such 
unheeding  ears. 


322  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  had  found  life  unbearable  without  her;  he 
longed  for  her  to  be  back ;  or,  failing  that,  he  longed 
for  her  to  marry.  The  contemplation  that  she  might 
continue  to  lead  this  life  was  infinitely  distressing 
to  him. 

Rex  and  G  and  he  seemed  sometimes  to  be  like 
dim  marionettes  jerking  in  time  to  a  scheduled 
existence:  there  was  no  life  in  them.  Kex  was  in 
town  a  great  deal,  and  then  G  and  he  faced  one 
another  in  the  silence. 

After  a  peculiarly  bad  week  of  that  existence  he 
had  risen  and  said  abruptly: 

"  I  am  going  to  Madrid." 

G  had  replied  "  Good ! "  and  he  had  caught  the 
early  boat  train. 

He  had  felt  extraordinary  when  he  had  stepped 
out  at  the  frontier;  for  an  instant  the  years  had 
seemed  to  fall  away,  and  he  was  back  in  the  olden 
golden  days,  giving  Francesca's  maid  directions, 
arguing  about  the  car ;  there  were  the  same  customs 
officers,  clad  in  opera  bouffe  style,  and  the  same 
military  policemen  in  their  absurd  high  hats;  the 
same  women  with  nasal  voices,  walking  up  and 
down  offering  croisson  sandwiches  and  bowls  of 
coffee  and  apricots. 

Nothing  had  moved  him  so  much  as  that  revival 
of  memory,  or  brought  Doro  so  near;  he  had  once 
carried  her  in  his  arms  across  this  very  line.  .  .  . 

Even  the  dusty  heat  of  Madrid,  where  the  noise 
of  the  trams  seemed  to  penetrate  even  to  his  room 


'ALMOND-BLOSSOM  323 

in  the  august  hotel,  the  absence  of  all  that  which  he 
considered  alone  made  life  bearable,  could  not  drive 
that  feeling  of  tenderness  from  his  heart. 

He  dined  early  and  went  straight  to  the  opera 
house  and  sat  well  back  in  his  loge. 

The  burst  of  wild  applause  when  Doro  appeared 
had  shaken  him  a  little,  but  reconciled  him  not  at 
all;  the  stage  was  not  meant  for  the  right  sort  of 
woman,  anyone  could  see  that,  in  Tony's  opinion; 
he  only  marvelled  that  Doro  had  not  already  done 
so. 

His  prolonged  inspection  of  her  dressing-room, 
its  smallness,  heat,  excessive  light,  the  photographs 
— all  signed  "  Yours  ever,"  and  inscribed  to  "  Do- 
lores Darling  " — the  idiotic  mascots  of  black  cats, 
heather  horseshoes,  old  nails,  and  other  equally 
incomprehensible  and  valueless  trifles,  the  "clut- 
ter "  of  things  everywhere,  and  the  perfume  of 
grease  paint  and  strongly-scented  flowers  and 
Doro's  beloved  jasmine,  had  all  combined  to  make 
Tony  feel  no  human  being  could  live  in  such  an 
atmosphere  and  like  it. 

He  went  to  the  Casino  restaurant  and  ordered 
\  the  best  supper  he  could  devise,  and  sat  outside  the 
[  stage  door  in  his  hired  car  patiently  waiting. 

Doro  flashed  out  to  him  in  a  cloak  which  had  a 
wonderful  green  lining  where  silver  birds  sang 
ceaseless  strains.  She,  too,  was  excited;  she,  too, 
had  been  roused  by  tender  memories;  and  then, 
Tony's  appearance,  his  claim  to  her,  had  given  her 


324  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

back  that  sense  of  belonging  rightly;  she  tried  to 
be  amused  by  her  own  outlook,  but  it  was  a  little 
difficult ;  finally  she  decided :  "  It  isn't  that  I  mind 
other  people  not  being  up  to  standard,  it's  that  I 
do  hate  they're  not  wishing  to  recognize  that  I 
am!" 

Yet  when  Tony  pleaded,  quite  eloquently  for  him, 
that  she  should  "  chuck  it  all "  and  come  home,  the 
lure  of  her  new  life  seemed  to  grow  in  strength  and 
fascination;  she  could  not  give  it  up;  she  knew  it 
quite  suddenly;  simply  she  could  not.  She  adored 
the  applause,  the  outward  and  visible  sign  of  her 
value ;  her  power  was  a  never-ceasing  joy  to  her. 

She  evaded  a  direct  answer,  and  Tony  thought: 

"  Give  her  her  head  " ;  it  was  his  modus  operand* 
with  any  troublesome  plunger. 

Savardi's  note  pleased  him ;  he  awaited  that  con- 
queror's coming  with  interest. 

Upon  closer  inspection,  he  decided  Savardi 
pleased  him  mightily;  he  was  a  young  man  after 
his  own  heart ;  he  detected  no  subtlety  in  him ;  Jte 
saw  only  a  well-built  youth  who  ardently  wished  to 
marry  Doro;  who  possessed  a  name,  an  income,  and 
could  undoubtedly  ride  and  shoot,  and  would  be 
a  great  help  to  him  in  both  those  vital  matters. 

Savardi  thought  to  himself : 

"He  will  suspect  nothing;  he  is  comfortably 
stupid.  Thank  God  he  came  early  enough ! " 

He  had  passed  a  hideous  night,  cursing  himself 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  325 

his  bad  start.  Kexford  cheered  and  encouraged, 
him. 

There  remained  Doro. 

"  She's  lunching  here,"  Tony  volunteered;  "  stay, 
too." 

Doro  entered,  looking  less  like  a  prima  donna 
than  any  woman  could  do;  she  was  in  white,  and 
was  wearing  a  white  straw  hat  and  no  jewels,  save 
Tony's  string  of  pearls. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  Tony  said,  kissing  her,  "  here's 
a  visitor  for  you." 

Doro  lifted  her  lashes  at  Savardi,  and  his  heart 
raced. 

He  went  very  pale. 

When  Tony  had  strolled  off  to  "  get  some  cigars," 
he  paled  further;  he  looked  all  black  and  white 
pride — and  obstinacy. 

He  knelt  before  Doro  suddenly. 

"To-day  I  have  asked  Lord  Rexford  for  your 

hand  in  marriage — Doro "  He  stopped  because, 

literally,  he  dared  not  speak,  but  he  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  on  her ;  she  saw  his  lips  trembling, 

And,  unexpectedly,  she  felt  sorry  for  him;  she 
had  meant  this  to  be  a  moment  of  triumph,  and 
suddenly  the  wish  deserted  her. 

Savardi  whispered  almost  inaudibly : 

"  Mother  of  Christ,  how  I  adore  you !  " 

It  might  have  been  a  prayer,  but  Doro  knew  it 
was  not,  and  oddly,  in  that  moment,  Savardi 
seemed  very  boyish  and  appealing. 


326  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Perhaps  he  saw  the  softening  in  her  eyes;  he 
leant  nearer  and  slid  an  arm  about  her  very  gently, 
and  then,  like  a  tempest  breaking  from  clear  skies, 
he  kissed  her  with  such  passion  that  she  felt  as  if 
she  must  faint. 

The  kiss  grew  less  dominant,  the  breath  struggled 
in  her  throat. 

"  My  answer,  my  answer,"  she  heard  Savardi  say- 
ing, and  his  voice  was  as  shaken  as  if  he  had  been 
running ;  "  open  your  eyes,  my  darling  dear !  "  and 
there  followed  a  torrent  of  adoring  Spanish. 

And  his  voice — so  eager,  so  full  of  worship- 
stirred  her,  she  could  not  help  it.  It  was  so  sweet 
to  be  loved  again,  even  if  she  did  not  love — and  to 
have  won — conquest  is  such  balm  to  any  hurt — and 

Savardi And  she  had  been  lonely,  too,  after 

all 

"  My  Beautiful,  mine,  mine,  mine,"  Savardi  stam- 
mered, and  suddenly  leant  his  face  down  on  their 
:  hands  clasped  together. 

And,  somehow,  it  became  impossible  to  say  "  No," 
though  she  knew  that  only  the  wonder  of  the 
'moment  held  her:  Savardi's  demanding,  splendid, 
insistent  youth. 

He  lifted  his  head  and  smiled  at  her  and  said, 
/with  that  swift  swerve  of  mood  which  has  its  own 
.attraction : 

"  I  had  no  idea  one  could  wish  to  be  married  until 
you  came." 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  327 

Doro  looked  into  his  blue  eyes  between  their  thick 
lashes. 

"You  have  relatives  in  the  Church,  the  Diplo- 
matic?" she  asked  him  gravely. 

"  But,  of  course." 

His  eyes  did  not  drop  ...  his  outlook  had  been 
so  far  removed  from  hers  that  he  entirely  failed  to 
appreciate  the  fact  any  rebuke  had  been  intended. 

He  knelt  up  now  and  took  Doro  wholly  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her,  as  she  told  him  later,  breath- 
lessly :  "  Eather  too  Spanishy." 

He  laughed  into  her  eyes : 

"  I  will  kiss  you  d  I* Anglais!  " 

And  he  touched  her  cheek  chillily  with  his  lips. 

"Like  that!" 

He  stayed  to  lunch,  he  stayed  to  tea;  Doro  and 
Tony  were  to  dine  with  him  on  the  morrow  in  his 
home.  Neither  Doro  nor  Tony  had  realized  what  a 
Spanish  engagement  can  mean ;  they  were  initiated 
into  its  first  mysteries  during  the  ensuing  week. 

Savardi,  however,  Tony  liked  better  and  better. 
No  lover,  be  it  known,  is  so  circumspect,  so  chival- 
rous, so  definitely  "  correct,"  as  your  Spaniard,  and 
all  that  the  unsuspecting  Tony  found  entirely  right 
and  pleasing. 

He  was  aware,  though  neither  Savardi  nor  he  had 
really  discussed  the  matter,  that,  upon  her  mar- 
riage, Doro  would  have  to  give  up  her  opera  life. 
In  Tony's  and  Savardi's  opinion  those  events  would 


328  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

follow  one  another  in  true  Shakespearean  manner, 
"  as  the  night  the  day." 

If  Savardi  had  any  doubts  on  this  matter,  he  said 
nothing  of  them. 

He  paid  Doro  assiduous  court;  he  kept  her  in  a 
whirl  of  life  which  seemed  all  sweetness,  adoration, 
adulation,  lovely  gifts.  She  was  feted  by  everyone ; 
Rexford's  presence  had  given  her  new  prestige. 

Savardi  and  he  accompanied  her  everywhere,  and 
her  progress  in  public  places  might  have  been  that 
of  royalty,  for  the  interest  it  excited. 

Doro  did  not  thin!:,  would  not  let  herself  think ; 
deliberately,  as  it  is  perfectly  possible  for  any 
woman  to  do,  she  let  herself  be  swayed  by  Savardi's 
insatiable  youth  and  love;  her  life  for  the  last  two 
years  had  been  desolate  in  her  heart ;  Savardi  had 
forced  a  way  in,  and  if  he  had  not  lighted  the  lamps 
on  that  altar,  those  from  his  heart  flung  a  far 
reflection  on  to  hers. 

Women  have  married  for  less!  Doro,  at  least, 
loved  the  gaiety  and  quickness  of  him,  his  intense 
virility,  as  women  generally  do  love  precisely  those 
qualities  because  they  stir  their  pulses,  and,  at  any 
rate,  move  life  from  its  ordinary  rut. 

Secretly,  Doro  fully  intended  continuing  her 
career;  she  foresaw  the  struggle,  and  she  ardently 
hoped  it  would  take  place  before  her  marriage; 
struggles  after  were  apt  to  be  half  and  half  victories 
on  either  side,  she  had  noticed. 

A  remark  of  Savardi's  made  late  one  night  when 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  329 

lie  was  endeavouring  to  kiss  her  good  night,  a  feat 
which  seemed  likely  to  be  accomplished  towards 
early  morning,  awoke  her  from  her  trance-like 
%aisser-aller  frame  of  mind.  He  was  sitting  on  the 
sofa  holding  her  in  his  arms  and  kissing  her  quite 
jgently,  and  he  said,  his  lips  against  her  hair : 

"  Dios!  Life  is  very  hard,  difficult.  I  wish  that 
I  might  shut  you  up  for  ever,  so  that  no  one  might 
gaze  upon  your  beauty  but  myself." 

He  was  quite  serious;  his  blue  eyes  burnt  with 
longing. 

"  I  should  stifle,  my  soul  would,  leading  a  life  like 
that,"  Doro  said. 

He  put  a  cool  hand  upon  her  throat. 

"  But  we  should  belong  so — all  of  you  would  be 
mine " 

"  Ah,  we  should  belong  .  .  .  ?  " 

Remembering,  she  felt  a  chill  of  dread ;  the 
struggle  no  longer  loomed,  partly  worrying,  partly 
amusing ;  it  would  be  a  thing  of  deadly  seriousness. 

It  was  useless  to  look  to  Tony  for  any  help;  she 
iknew  his  views. 

There  remained :  to  break  her  engagement. 

Averado  broached  the  question  to  her;  he  had 
(contracts  with  her  which  had  still  five  years  to  run. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  fulfil  them,"  Doro  told  him. 
"But  naturally!" 

Averado  was  enchanted  to  hear  it,  also  amazed; 
but  the  latter  emotion  he  hid,  nor  did  he  mention^ 
to  Doro  that  Lord  Eexford  had  asked  him,  much  as 


330  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

an  enemy  offers  armistice,  what  price  he  required 
to  break  those  contracts. 

The  last  week  of  the  season  dawned  in  a  blaze  of 
heat,  and  bull-fights,  and  festas  of  every  descrip- 
tion, and  with  it  there  dawned  Hex,  quite  cool,  as 
languid  as  ever,  and  self-possessed. 

He  certainly  made  a  foil  for  Savardi  with  his 
fairness  and  languor,  his  low,  always,  it  seemed, 
slightly  amused,  voice,  and  utter  lack  of  gesture. 

"  So  it  is  true?  "  he  asked  Doro. 

He  studied  her. 

"  And  you  are  as  happy  as  you  want  to  be?  " 

"  Is  anyone  ever  that?  "  she  asked  him  a  little 
sadly.  She  wished  Hex  had  not  come ;  somehow  his 
coming  seemed  a  reproach,  and  yet  there  was  noth- 
ing about  which  she  need  feel  self-reproach. 

Savardi  and  he  were  polite  to  one  another. 
Savardi  divined  all  he  would  never  know,  and  his 
divination  gave  him  little  peace  where  Rex  was 
concerned. 

And  Rex  appropriated  Doro  so  calmly;  he  was 
always  in  her  dressing-room,  at  the  hotel,  driving 
her,  riding  with  her. 

Savardi  neither  liked  nor  understood  his  type ;  to 
him  it  appeared  bloodless  and  self -sufficient ;  Rex 
had  none  of  his  tastes  and  few  of  his  views  and  yet 
seemed  to  have  lived  a  great  deal,  and  certainly  he 
was  no  fool. 

Again,  Rex's  friendships  were  extraordinary;  he 
appeared  actually  to  like  the  robust  and  pushing 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  331 

Averado,  who  treated  him,  Savardi  noticed,  with 
no  effusion,  and  yet  would  do  things  for  him  he 
would  never  do  for  other  men,  Savardi  included. 

Only  Savardi's  sister,  Renee,  raved  about  him 
and  his  fairness,  and  his  smile,  and  his  voice. 

Doro  suspected  Eex  of  a  ridicule  he  did  not  show. 
She  taxed  him  with  it,  and  he  denied  it  with  a  little 
smile. 

"  Do  you  like  Savardi?  "  Doro  asked  him. 

He  met  her  gaze  levelly. 

"  Of  course,  I  am  consumed  with  jealousy  of  him ; 
I  think  he's  a  sportsman,  and  his  manners  are  de- 
lightful, but  one  appreciates  the  mixture  of  sav- 
agery and  haute  finesse  which  distinguishes  him !  " 

Savardi  and  he  went  to  the  big  bull-fight,  to 
Doro's  amazement  and  disgust. 

He  was  in  Tony's  sitting-room  when  she  went 
there  to  seek  Tony. 

"  You  are  back?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes.  Savardi  was  entertaining  a  crowd,  but  I 
preferred  to  come  home." 

"  Did  you  like  it— the  fight?  " 

«  No,  I  loathed  it." 

"  Why  did  you  go,  then?  " 

She  was  genuinely  surprised. 

Rex  opened  his  eyes — they  had  been  closed  (he 
was  lying  full  length  on  a  sofa,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head) — and  said: 

"  Savardi  asked  me,  hoping  I  would  refuse.  So  I 
went." 


332  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  But — why?  It  sounds  so  absurd." 

"  Oh,  he  understands  quite  well." 

A  storm  was  coming  up ;  the  sky  was  livid  orange 
flecked  with  purple  clouds,  the  trees  shivered. 

"  How  still  it  is !  "  Doro  said. 

"  Yes,  the  hush  before  a  tempest :  forced  calm  is 
always  a  portent." 

He  looked  at  her  fixedly. 

"  Doro?  " 

"  Yes?  " 

"  When  is  your  marriage?  " 

"  Heaven  knows ! " 

"  It  may,  possibly  does ;  but  will  that  fact  content 
Savardi?  It  would  not  me — does  not,  in  point  of 
sordid  fact;  there  are  such  things  as  trains  and 
boats,  y'know,  in  connexion  with  a  return  trip." 

"  You  are  going  back?  "  Doro  asked  obviously. 

"  Of  course." 

"  Kex,"  that  curiosity  a  woman  never  quite  loses 
with  regard  to  a  man  she  knows  has  loved  her  made 
her  question  him,  even  while  she  realized  her  un- 
wisdom and  perhaps  lack  of  kindness.  "  Kex,  why 
did  you  come?  " 

"  The  better  to  see  you,  my  dear !  "  he  said,  smil- 
ing a  little. 

"  Ah — just — just  that?  "  Her  voice  sounded  flat 
with  disappointment. 

"I  wanted  to  see  what  kind  of  a  man  Savardi 
was,  if  he'd  take  care  of  you." 

"  And  you  think  he  will — you  approve?  " 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  333 

"He's  a  decent  being  with  very  obvious  limita- 
tions, and  they  are  better  than  subtle,  hidden  ones." 

A  smile  quivered  on  Doro's  lips.  She  thought  of 
Savardi's  first  attempt  to  win  her:  was  he  so  un- 
subtle? 

And  what  would  Bex  have  said  had  he  known? 
She  felt  glad  he  never  would. 

Bex  asked  suddenly: 

"  Do  you  intend  to  go  on  singing  after  your  mar- 
riage? One  imagines  not:  it's  rather  difficult  to 
imagine  Excelentisima  giving  full  vent  to  Delila's 
passion-broken  cry ! " 

Doro  went  across  to  the  sofa  and  stood  beside  it, 
and  looked  down  at  Bex. 

"  Bex,  what  shall  I  do?  I  don't  want  to  give  up 
my  career." 

"  No,  I  know ;  but  I  fear  you  will  have  to.  The 
fact  you  do  not  wish  to  will  alter  very  little." 

She  felt  hurt  by  his  impersonal  tone  of  lightness, 
and  chose  to  retaliate. 

"  Savardi  adores  me,"  she  said. 

"  In  his  way,"  Bex  answered  very  quietly ;  "  but 
unluckily,  loving  you  his  way  will  not  give  you 
yours.  It  never  does.  One  has  to  love  a  person  more 
than  oneself  to  be  able  to  do  that.  However,"  he 
sat  up  and  drew  out  his  cigarette-case,  "  you  can 
give  up  your  way." 

Doro  turned  and  sat  down  on  the  sofa  close  to 
him. 

"  Oh,  Bex,"  she  said  helplessly. 


334  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  window,  and  lit  his 
cigarette  there. 

Doro  looked  at  him  silhouetted  against  the  dan- 
gerous glow  of  the  sky ;  his  profile  stood  out  with  a 
sort  of  hard  determination,  and  suddenly  it  occurred 
to  her  that  virility  is  not  always  super-evident,  it 
might  exist  under  self-repression,  and  exist  the 
more  intensely  therefore. 

The  excitement  which  a  coming  storm  always 
can  induce  awoke  in  her:  Eex  was  too  self -con- 
trolled, his  aloofness  made  her  resentful.  He  had 
not  always  been  so  very  still  and  repressed,  and 
"apart"! 

If  he  had  not  come,  life  really  would  have  been 
easier;  his  coming  had  not  made  her  love  Savardi 
more,  exerted  the  influence  the  return  of  one  old 
lover  can  exert ;  Rex  had  simply  formed  a  contrast, 
and  her  mood  was  too  variable  to  desire  any  further 
agitation. 

Savardi  came  in,  and  saw  Bex  first ;  his  blue  eyes 
glittered. 

Then  he  kissed  Doro  and  talked  with  her  in  the 
tone  young  men  like  to  use  to  their  womenkind,  a 
tone  of  voice  which,  if  it  had  been  addressed  to 
children,  might  be  described  as  soothing,  and  as 
addressed  to  a  woman  deserves  the  adjective  "  soft " 
in  its  least  polite  sense. 

Rex  continued  to  stare  out  of  the  window  at  the 
darkening  street,  the  low  bending  trees,  and  lifting 
awnings ;  the  air  felt  as  if  there  were  no  wind,  and 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  335 

yet  all  things  moved  in  a  frightened,  hurried  way. 

Savardi  "  wished  to  God  "  in  his  own  mind  that 
Kex  would  go,  and  continued  to  murmur  to  Doro. 
He  was  intensely  wrought  up,  the  bull-fight  had  lit 
its  usual  excitement  in  him;  much  excellent  cham- 
pagne had  not  tended  to  lessen  that  effect. 

He  wanted  to  kiss  and  kiss  Doro,  but  this  man 
stood  there  in  priest-like  inactivity 

"You  liked  the  fight,  Senor  Greville?  "  he  in- 
quired suddenly, 

"  Oh  yes,  thanks." 

"  You  approve  of  our  sport,  then?  " 

"  But  why  not,  Don  Luis?  " 

Nothing  to  be  gained  that  way. 

The  hour  dragged ;  at  last  Savardi  left,  just  before 
the  storm  broke. 

"  I  cannot  drive  to  the  opera  house  in  this,"  Doro 
said,  watching  the  hailstones  beat  the  street.  "  It 
would  be  impossible.  Heavens,  Kex,  what  an  irri- 
tating thing  life  is !  " 

As  he  still  did  not  speak,  she  said,  a  little  ner- 
vously, laughingly: 

"  I  think  I  want  to  be  comforted." 

The  words  took  them  back  to  Hurstpoint,  to  the 
old  life. 

"  Kex,  I'm  so  uncertain.  .  .   . " 

She  longed  for  him  to  question  her;  he  said 
levelly : 

"  You  are  engaged,  y'know.  No  one  forces  that 
sort  of  thing  on  one." 


336  ALMOND-'BLOSSOM 

"  Circumstances  do !  "  Doro  answered  sombrely. 

He  would  not  look  at  her ;  his  steady  eyes  gazed 
reflectively  at  the  sodden  road. 

Suddenly  Doro  demanded : 

"  What  did  G  think  of  my  engagement?  " 

"  Oh,  she  hoped  you'd  be  happy,  and  so  on,  and 
so  forth ! " 

He  smiled  at  her. 

"  G  was  quite  as  she  should  have  been ! " 

He  spoke  with  a  double  truth,  one  half  which  was 
heard  only  personally,  for  G  had  "  taken  it  well " 
for  both  Doro  and  himself. 

She  had  not  questioned  Doro's  choice;  she  had 
certainly  wished  her  every  happiness,  and  she  had 
clasped  Rex's  head  between  her  fine  withered  hands 
and  drawn  it  down  on  to  her  shoulder;  if  he  had 
felt,  reading  the  letter  of  announcement,  that  all 
the  glow  and  romance  of  life  was  ended,  she  had  felt 
for  him,  through  him,  as  if  life  had  ceased  to  have 
any  value. 

If  his  love  for  Doro  had  been  of  the  stocky, 
"  used  "  kind,  the  kind  which  may  begin  in  earliest 
youth  and  settle  down,  from  lack  of  ambition  on 
the  part  of  the  lover,  to  a  state  of  well-wishing, 
well-being,  placidity,  she  would  hav^  been  sorry  for 
his  disappointment,  but  not  broken  by  it  at  all. 
But  she  knew  that  some  men  are  so  constituted  that 
one  love  may  fill  their  lives  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
else,  and  that  by  the  possession  of  the  woman  they 
love  alone  will  they  attain  happiness. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  337 

Bex  had  been  no  anchorite,  but  he  had  never 
'spoken  of  any  woman  with  love  save  Doro.  G  knew 
him  through  and  through,  knew  his  passion  for 
Beauty,  the  subtlety  of  his  mind,  his  deadly  ob- 
(stinacy.  These  three  things  had  all  fused  in  his 
love  for  Doro. 

"  I  will  have  the  best  or  nothing,"  he  had  once  told 
'G  doggedly. 

It  had  been  she  who  had  advised  him  to  go  to 
tMadrid;  he  had  meant  to  go,  she  divined,  and  she 
had  made  the  way  as  easy  for  him  as  she  could; 
now  he  was  there,  and  that  was  all  that  could.be 
said. 

Doro's  engagement  endured,  he  would  make  no 
appeal.  He  recognized  Savardi's  defects  and  vir- 
tues, and  knew  him  to  be  as  much  in  love  as  his 
nature  would  allow  him  to  be  with  one  woman  at 
one  time.  He  saw  Doro  did  not  love  him,  and  yet 
would  marry  him,  unless  someone  deliberately 
stopped  her.  He  realized  with  austere  clarity  that 
he  should  return  to  England ;  he  approved  Savardi's 
dislike  of  himself,  and  despised  himself  for  exploit- 
ing it. 

This  evening  he  knew  he  must  not  stay ;  if  Doro 
did  not  love  Savardi,  neither  did  she  love  him,  and 
Ms  presence  confused  her  power  of  concentration. 

He  said : 

"  I  am  going  back  to-morrow,  my  dear.  In  this 
weather  I  prefer  Hurstpoint." 


338  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"You  are  going  to-morrow?"  Doro  said.  Her 
heart  sank.  "  Oh,  why?  " 

"  Lots  of  reasons ;  chiefly,  I  want  to !  " 

The  room  was  nearly  in  darkness ;  they  could  see 
one  another's  faces  in  a  pale  blur. 

"  Don't  go,"  Doro  said ;  she  crossed  to  him  and 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  It's — it's — been  so — so 
splendid  having  you.  Savardi " 

"  Doesn't  like  me,  but  is  nice  about  me — is  that 
what  you  are  going  to  say?  "  he  interpolated. 

"  He  does  like  you." 

"  My  dear,  he  does  not,  nor  I  him." 

"  How  absurd!  And  anyway,  if  it  is  so,  why?  " 

Eex  wondered  if  women  were  deliberately  cruel, 
or  merely  nervously  so ;  he  felt  a  hard  inclination  to 
take  Doro's  hand  tightly  in  his  own  and  crush  it 
into  his  and  tell  her :  "  Because  we  both  love  you, 
because  he  suspects  I  do,  and  I  know  he  does;  be- 
cause I  hate  to  see  him  touch  you,  hate  to  think  of 
the  hours  he  can  kiss  you ;  hate  him  for  being  first 
when  it  is  not  my  fault  I  am  not,  and  just  chance, 
luck — call  it  what  you  will.  And  I  hate  him  because 
it  makes  me  dishonourable  to  myself." 

Instead,  he  said : 

"  Simply,  we  don't  hit  it.  Although  we  are  both 
rather  nice  people  in  our  different  way ! " 

He  clung  to  any  form  of  humour,  went  on  talking 
in  the  same  vein  to  escape  the  tension  he  felt 
threatened. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  339 

Never  since  he  had  come  to  Madrid  had  he  felt 
so  utterly  stirred  as  he  felt  now;  never  had  Doro 
striven  so  to  reach  him.  The  storm  was  sweeping 
his  nerves,  too :  the  room  grew  even  darker ;  he  knew 
if  he  did  not  go  that  he  would  later  not  forgive  him- 
self. He  longed  with  a  parched  sensation  of  driven, 
longing  to  break  down  the  frail  barrier  between 
himself  and  Doro,  and  implore  her  to  free  herself. 
He  longed  to  tell  her  of  the  sleepless  nights  and 
weary  days  he  had  lived  through  for  love  of  her.1 
Just  this  quiet  intimacy  was  a  danger  in  itself. 

He  made  himself  say  nonchalantly : 

"  I  must  be  off,  my  dear.  I'll  come  round  in  the 
morning,  if  I  may,  to  say  good-bye." 

He  did  not  attempt  to  take  her  hand ;  he  reached' 
the  door  and  switched  on  the  light,  and  looked  back' 
at  her. 

"  Au  'voir,  then." 

He  closed  the  door,  and  stood  alone  in  the  vast 
corridor;  that  deadly  ache  born  of  the  knowledge1 
of  chance  foregone,  a  meeting  he  had  longed  to  last,l 
ended,  seized  on  him. 

He  asked  himself  the  questions  one  does  ask 
futilely: 

Why  had  he  not  stayed  just  a  little  longer?  Whyj 
had  he  been  so  unnecessarily  offhand — he  had  not 
wished  to  go  in  reality,  and  with  every  thought  and 
instinct  he  longed  to  return  to  Doro. 

The  dimly-lit  corridor  looked  like  the  dreary 


340  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

entrance  to  any  place  of  repentance ;  it  was  stamped 
with  unoriginal  neatness  and  worth. 

How  banal,  to  leave  all  your  heart's  happiness  in 
such  a  hotel — to  part  from  everything  which  made 
life  beautiful  in  one  of  those  over-furnished,  garish 
little  rooms. 

Rex  realized  the  power  to  hurt  which,  speaking 
ordinarily,  things  can  possess. 

He  walked  away  and  down  the  wide,  thickly 
carpeted  steps. 

Outside  it  had  stopped  raining  for  a  little  while, 
but  the  sky  hung  low  like  a  dark  menacing  wave 
about  to  break. 

Lightning  cut  into  it  with  streaks  of  silver  fire; 
no  thunder  followed,  but  the  air  seemed  to  suffocate 
itself,  it  was  so  dense,  so  heavy. 

Eex  walked  out  and  crossed  the  square,  an  acacia 
tree  in  front  of  him  suddenly  bowed,  as  if  a  violent 
hand  had  pulled  it  downwards,  and  at  the  same 
moment  a  second  storm  burst. 

He  ran,  still  limping  a  little,  to  the  first  shelter 
he  saw,  a  faintly  lighted  oblong. 

He  pushed  blindly  at  it,  and  found  a  half-opened 
door,  and  slipped  in.  Voices  sounded  indistinctly; 
someone  laughed,  a  man ;  someone  sang. 

Eex,  his  eyes  becoming  used  to  the  dim  light,  dis- 
covered that  he  must  be  in  the  private  entrance  to 
the  Caf 6  du  Nord ;  dimly,  he  could  hear  a  band ;  he 
seemed  to  remember  the  location  too. 

The  rain  fell  in  a  deluge ;  he  decided  to  stay  where 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  341 

he  was,  and  walked  forward  and  sat  dcwn  on  the 
linoleum-covered  stairs. 

The  room  on  the  top  landing  was  obviously  occu- 
pied by  rather  happy  revellers. 

Bursts  of  song  were  interrupted  by  roars  of  laugh- 
ter. Eex  remembered  the  bull-fight,  and  understood 
this  otherwise  unnaturally  early  celebration. 

He  lit  a  cigarette:  it  seemed  extraordinary  that 
to-morrow  at  this  time  he  would  already  be  so  far 
away;  it  seemed  extraordinary  simply  because  he 
would  be  acting  directly  against  his  wishes,  even 
his  will. 

He  had  never  loved  Doro  as  he  loved  her  now, 
now  that  he  and  she  had  both  savoured  life  apart ; 
her  "  newness  "  at  this  reunion  had  been  an  added 
delight ;  it  had  seemed  to  give  her  an  added  charm, 
or  perhaps  to  make  all  the  other  qualities  he  so 
loved  in  her  more  wonderful. 

He  tried  to  think  what  he  would  do  with  life,  how 
he  should  pass  the  time  which  loomed  so  menacingly 
before  him  now. 

Time  became  an  enemy  with  every  advantage, 
when  you  loved  and  were  not  loved  again ;  one  might 
struggle,  deny,  pursue  one's  interests  vehemently, 
one  did  not  escape. 

He  supposed  he  would  go  back  to  London  and 
stay  there  and  read  of  Dolores  in  the  papers — and 
hate  Savardi  as  much  as  ever. 

For,  deep  down,  he  hated  him,  and  though  the 
origin  of  his  motive  was  obscure,  he  knew  it  resulted 
in  contempt. 


342  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  despised  him  for  some  quality  he  could  not 
place  in  him,  but  at  the  same  time  he  felt  he  was 
never  wholly  just  to  Savardi  because  of  his  jealousy. 

And  at  that  moment,  oddly,  he  heard  Savardi's 
voice.  He  was  shouting  a  name,  Doro's. 

Hex  flushed  in  the  dusk.  "  Young  cub !  He  is 
drunk,  of  course ! " 

Another  voice  shouted  clearly: 

"  To  the  marriage  day !  " 

Apparently  there  was  a  vast  filling  of  glasses. 

Kex  rose  and  prepared  to  leave;  he  had  reached 
the  door  when  another  voice,  young,  rather  thick, 
reached  him  easily: 

"  Never  meant  to  marry  the  fair  Dolores — only 
her  father  insisted " 

Oaths,  shouts,  laughter,  expostulations  broke  out. 
Kex,  strung  up  by  the  day's  demand,  took  the 
stairs  in  a  couple  of  strides  and  opened  the  door 
of  the  room. 

Savardi  and  a  youth  were  struggling  together. 
Half  a  dozen  other  young  men  were  cursing  and 
laughing,  and  endeavouring  to  separate  the  com- 
batants. As  Eex  entered,  the  youth  broke  free ;  his 
face  was  bleeding  where  Savardi  had  struck  him. 

He  spat  out  venomously : 

"  It  is  the  truth.  All  our  family  knows  it  is  the 
truth;  all  Madrid  knew  Luis  would  not  marry  an 
opera  singer!  He  had  arranged  to  take  her  to  his 
villa  at  Cordova;  my  father  saw  the  settlements, 
then  this  Lord  Kexf ord  appeared  ..." 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  343 

His  friends  had  been  restraining  Savardi;  now 
one  whispered  Bex's  name,  and  Savardi  spun  round, 
and  they  faced  one  another. 

Into  Bex's  mind,  rocking  in  a  very  tempest  of 
white  rage,  the  thought  slid,  like  a  sliver  of  ice: 
"  Now  I  know  why  I  distrusted  him." 

He  walked  across  the  floor  and  stood  within  a 
foot  of  Savardi;  they  were  of  even  height,  their 
eyes  met  levelly. 

For  a  moment  neither  moved;  then  Bex,  lifting 
his  hand,  struck  Savardi  lightly  in  the  face,  smiled 
at  him  faintly,  and  drew  back. 

Savardi  laughed  in  his  throat;  his  friend,  Miguel 
Martinez,  stepped  forward,  bowed  to  Bex,  and  prof- 
fered a  card;  he  began  a  set  speech  in  Spanish. 

Bex  took  the  card,  tore  it  in  two,  and,  still  staring 
at  Savardi's  chill  white  face  and  burning  eyes, 
struck  him  again,  lightly,  as  before. 

Savardi  closed  with  him,  and  he  had  the  soul- 
satisfying  feeling  of  having  his  enemy  at  grips  at 
last;  the  elan  which  succeeds  rage  possessed  him, 
he  was  lifted  entirely  above  his  earlier  mood,  and 
felt  an  amazing  lightness.  Neither  man  spoke,  and 
there  was  silence  in  the  close,  crowded  room. 
Savardi  nearly  swung  Bex  clear  once,  but  a  moment 
later  Bex  deliberately  thrust  Savardi  off  his  feet, 
and  by  sheer  appalling  effort  beat  him  to  the  floor. 

As  he  did  so,  he  felt  his  weak  side  stabbed  by  a 
hideous  pain ;  a  haze  floated  before  him,  but  through 
it  he  could  see  Savardi  on  the  floor  still. 


344  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

He  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  mechanically  stooped 
to  offer  his  hand  to  the  fallen  man. 

Others  ran  forward ;  he  turned  away  and  walked 
to  a  dusty  mirror,  set  in  tarnished  gilt,  with 
bunches  of  paper  flowers  at  the  four  corners,  and 
fastened  his  collar  and  tied  his  tie  meticulously. 

Then,  still  upright,  he  walked  out  of  the  room  and 
down  the  stairs. 

It  had  stopped  raining,  and  he  felt  vaguely  thank- 
ful for  the  momentary  coolness. 

He  was  in  such  pain  that  he  could  scarcely  think 
coherently;  he  knew  he  must  reach  his  hotel,  but 
he  did  not  remember  which  way  he  went. 

A  tram  clanged  past  and  stopped ;  he  reached  it, 
murmured  the  name  of  the  hotel,  and  heard  the  man 
answer,  watched  him  wave  his  hand  energetically, 
and  realized  he  was  quite  near  it. 

He  managed  to  gain  his  room ;  his  man  was  there 
putting  out  his  dinner  clothes. 

Rex  said  to  him,  collapsing  on  the  bed : 

"  Get  a  doctor,  the  best,  and  don't  let — don't  let 
a  soul  know — not — not  his  lordship — d'you  see — go 
now — and  be  as  quick  as  you  can." 

Martin  adored  him;  he  was  back  with  a  doctor 
within  five  minutes,  a  little  fat  man,  who  was  not 
quite  innocent  of  the  perfume  of  garlic,  but  who, 
the  porter  had  informed  Martin,  was  "  as  clever  as 
the  devil." 

He   examined   Rex   and  his   sharp   face   grew 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  345 

sharper ;  in  the  end  he  took  out  a  syringe  and  gave 
Eex  an  injection. 

"  I  leave  to-night  on  the  Paris  express,"  Rex  said 
to  him  quietly,  freed  from  the  pain ;  "  if  you  can 
manage  it,  I  should  be  glad  if  you  could  accompany 
me  to  Paris." 

The  doctor  stared,  then  his  heavy  jowl  quivered 
with  anger. 

"  You  do  not,"  he  argued  dogmatically. 

Rex  winced  with  weariness. 

"Oh,  yes.   Can  you  come,  or  do  you  refuse?" 

"  You  understand  you  will  be  in  great  pain  each 
inch  of  the  way — you  need  absolute  rest,  scarcely  a 
movement? "  the  doctor  inquired  with  seeming 
relish. 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  You  may  think  you  are  a  brave  man,  but  I  shall 
be  a  braver,  if  I  go,"  the  doctor  said  glumly. 

But  he  was  poor,  and  he  was  well  aware  this 
Englishman  was  rich;  all  the  English  appeared  to 
be  four  things:  rich,  pig-headed,  conceited,  and 
without  religion. 

Martin  and  he  carried  Rex  into  the  train,  and  the 
doctor  sat  beside  him  in  the  stuffy  wagon-lit. 

Rex  kept  his  steady,  tired  eyes  fixed  on  the  sky : 
morphia  never  dulled  his  mind  nor  made  him  sleep. 

He  had  sent  Doro  and  Tony  a  note  saying  he  was 
leaving  by  the  night  express,  and  that  had  been  all. 

He  seemed  to  feel  nothing  now  but  the  pain,  and 
a  certain  gladness  that  he  had  beaten  Savardi. 


346  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

His  mind  could  not  struggle  with  the  reason  for 
the  fight;  he  needed  its  balance  to  help  him  keep 
physical  control  of  himself. 

In  Paris  he  bade  Espada  good-bye,  and  sent  for 
a  man  he  knew  well — a  young  Frenchman  who  had 
been  his  friend  at  Oxford  and  who  was  mad  on 
surgery  and  science.  He  bandaged  Hex  and  took 
him  to  his  own  house  and  talked  to  him  of  his  loves, 
and  work,  and  of  much  science,  and  more  emotion. 

Eex  bore  his  kindness  for  a  week;  then,  swathed 
like  a  mummy,  cursed  for  his  foolishness  with 
every  good  French  curse  known  to  his  infuriated 
and  devoted  doctor,  he  left  for  London  and  his  own 
home. 

He  was  fond  of  the  town  house  in  his  way;  he 
liked  its  cool  spaces,  its  view  of  St.  James's,  its 
intimate  association  with  all  things  which  had 
passed,  but  passed  with  dignity;  it  was  too  big  a 
place,  of  course,  and  very  darkly  furnished,  but  it 
was  home  and  his  own,  and  he  longed  with  almost 
passionate  ardour  for  a  little  peace  in  his  own 
country. 

His  bedroom  overlooked  the  Green  Park,  now  the 
haunt  of  the  happy  loiterer,  and  he  used  to  lie  and 
watch  the  first  leaves  drift  down,  as  the  hot  sun 
kissed  them  loose.  He  wondered,  as  everyone  does 
at  some  time  or  another,  generally  during  unhappi- 
ness,  how  many  of  the  passers-by  were  glad  or 
miserable,  what  loveliness  or  tragedy  had  touched 
their  lives. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  347 

He  was  not  lonely  at  this  time ;  de  Gries'  report 
on  his  injured  back,  Hume's  grave  verdict  after 
the  examination,  the  constant  pain,  made  him  at 
once  too  depressed  and  tired  to  mind  much  who  was 
with  him  or  away. 

But  when,  as  it  seemed  miraculously,  G  entered 
his  room  one  late  summer  afternoon,  he  knew  he 
had  missed  her  all  the  while. 

She  was  in  black  muslin  and  pink  roses,  a  frivo- 
lous sunshade  all  black  chiffon  and  roses  had 
replaced  the  ebony  stick,  real  roses  were  pinned 
in  her  corsage  by  very  real  diamonds  indeed,  and 
all  about  her  there  hovered  the  sweet  fragrance  she 
affected,  which  Rex  had  loved  so  as  a  little  boy. 

She  stood  beside  his  couch  and  smiled  down  at 
him.  "Well,  well,"  said  she  in  that  caressing 
"little"  voice  women  use  to  their  children  when 
they  have  hurt  themselves. 

"  How  did  you  hear  I  was  back?  "  Hex  asked. 

"  I  met  Sir  Keith  at  a  garden  party  affair,  and 
he  told  me  everything  except  the  bits  you  will  tell 
me  later  on ! " 

Sweet,  aged  and  funereal,  came  in  to  remove  her 
mistress's  things,  and  incidentally  to  give  herself 
the  tremulous  joy  of  commiserating  with  Rex. 

"  Indeed,  you  do  look  badly,  sir,"  she  said  with 
gloomy  respect;  "worn  to  a  shadow,  crooil  thin, 
if  I  may  say  so.  I  suppose,  sir,  the  doctor  thinks 
it'll  be  a  long  job?  " 


348  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Years,  Sweet,  dear,"  Kex  replied  instantly,  "  if, 
indeed,  I  ever  regain  my  former  briskness." 

Sweet  murmured  scripturally  about  "  giving  and 
taking  away,"  then  roused  herself  to  give  a  spirited 
'•account  of  an  illness,  similar  to  Bex's  it  seemed, 
.which  had  been  suffered  by  a  member  of  her  own 
family  and  had  run  a  course  of  such  serious  nature 
.that  it  had  included  every  known  ailment,  the  suf- 
ferer, however,  succumbing  to  none  till  old  age  had 
taken  its  toll. 

"  Cheery  outlook,"  Bex  commented,  enjoying 
Sweet  immensely. 

He  felt  quite  different  already;  he  had  never 
realized  he  wanted  G ;  but  now  that  she  had  come, 
he  knew  he  had,  unconsciously,  missed  her  all  the 
time. 

Simply  her  presence,  the  familiar  perfume  she 
used,  her  low  yet  "  crisp  "  voice,  the  sense  of  indi- 
viduality she  gave  to  a  room  (which  is  so  great  a 
gift  and  possessed  by  so  few  people)  served  to 
.create  an  atmosphere  of  pleasurable  contentment. 
He  forgot  his  back,  Madrid,  the  longness  of  the 
day. 

Martin  came  in  smiling ;  flowers,  which  Bex  had 
been  too  dispirited  to  ask  for,  appeared  magically, 
tea  boasted  special  cakes. 

G,  secretly  intensely  distressed  by  Bex's  pallor, 
his  obvious  weakness,  decided  instantly  that  she 
would  stay  in  town  indefinitely ;  she  dispatched  the 
outraged  Sweet  to  Pointers  with  instructions  to 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  349 

return  "  by  return,"  accompanied  by  Nick,  the  ter- 
rier, and  such  garments  as  she  and  Sweet  would 
need. 

In  her  own  old  room,  which  she  had  occupied  as 
a  girl,  she  lay  down  to  rest  for  a  while. 

Naturally,  she  was  consumed  with  anxious 
curiosity  as  to  the  reason  for  Rex's  illness,  his 
abrupt  departure  from  Madrid.  Age  had  been  kind 
to  her;  G  often  acknowledged  that,  insomuch  that 
it  had  detracted  nothing  from  her  mentality,  and 
had  added  to  it  a  very  temperate  philosophy:  but 
philosophy  very  seldom  takes  rank  with  love,  and 
G's  love  for  Rex  was  the  dominant  factor  in  her 
life. 

She  cursed  Doro's  entry  into  the  family  in  her 
mind,  since  Rex  had  suffered  by  it. 

She  remembered  the  November'  evening,  years 
before,  when  Doro  had  seemed  a  being  of  cool,  yet 
flamboyant  youth,  and  Rex  had  spoken  first  of  her 
loveliness;  she,  G,  should  have  foreseen  then,  but 
she  had  trusted  to  the  value  of  propinquity,  which 
breeds  so  wholesome  a  familiarity. 

She  admitted  now  to  herself  that  she  had  entirely 
failed  to  discount  the  influence  one  love  may  have 
in  awaking  love;  she  had  ignored  the  strange,  yet 
often  inexorable  effect  the  mere  fact  of  love  being 
felt  by  one  person  may  have  quite  unconsciously  on 
another  nature,  seeming  to  attract  as  if  by  an 
invisible  aura,  exerting  an  involuntary  spell  by 
reason  of  its  own  intensity.  Now,  she  knew  that, 


350  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

in  all  probability,  had  Pan  and  Doro  never  loved, 
Rex  might  not  have  cared;  Doro,  until  that  new 
aspect  of  her  had  been  presented  to  him,  would  have 
remained  the  being  of  close  dearness  and  no  more 
to  Rex. 

But  it  had  happened,  and  regret  was  futile.  Lying 
here  in  the  room  which  had  once  watched  her  own 
hour  of  storm,  her  thoughts  moved  slowly  to  her 
own  youth. 

People  said  age  forgot,  failed  to  sympathize  be- 
cause it  had  grown  out  of  touch ;  to-day  she  remem- 
bered, as  if  it  had  been  yesterday,  the  anguish  of 
those  summer  months  when  she,  like  Doro,  had 
loved  a  man  of  straw. 

She  felt  herself  a  ghost  of  herself,  gazing  pitifully 
at  her  own  anguish. 

Ah,  age  forgot  nothing;  and  when  it  still. loved, 
it  only  suffered  anew  in  the  sufferings  of  the  one 
it  loved ! 

By  the  memory  of  her  own  grief  she  knew  Rex's 
pain. 

She  dined  with  him  in  his  room,  and  later  they 
sat  in  the  darkness  lighted  only  by  the  reflection 
of  lamps  from  the  park. 

The  trees  rustled  softly,  sighing  for  relief  that 
the  heat  of  the  day  was  over;  occasional  steps 
sounded  from  below ;  Nick,  restored  to  his  one  love 
by  the  reluctant,  but  speedy  Sweet,  lay,  a  too  warm, 
but  adoring  weight  in  the  crook  of  Rex's  arm. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  351 

"  It  was  all  damnable/'  Eex  said  suddenly,  his 
cigarette  glowing  for  an  instant.  "  I  made  a  hideous 
mistake  in  going." 

And  he  told  G  every  detail  he  could  remember. 

"  Savardi  is  the  Carpentier  type,  y'know ;  he  con- 
quers by  force.  Doro  does  not  love  him;  she  was 
uncertain  of  life  when  he  entered  it;  she  had 
achieved  so  much  so  quickly,  of  course  all  the  future 
seemed  flat.  And  she  isn't  the  exact  type ;  she  has 
been  too  much  herself  in  a  real  role  to  be  entirely 
herself  in  an  artificial  one.  All  the  while  she  wants 
something  and  isn't  quite  sure  what.  Really,  it  is 
just  what  everyone  wants:  to  be  understood.  She 
wants  to  go  on,  and  yet  have  a  stable  background. 
She  would  never  acknowledge  it,  I  suppose.  Per- 
haps, honestly,  she  has  not  realized  it,  but  what  she 
wants  is  a  husband  like  me :  a  man  who  would  give 
her  her  head  and  keep  his,  give  her  his  heart  and 
keep  hers.  It's  rare,  I  know,  and  I  only  sound  a 
conceited  fool,  but  I  could  do  it.  If  you  specialize 
on  one  woman,  you  do  get  an  idea  of  how  to  treat 
her.  I've  specialized  on  Doro  through  all  the  years 
that  matter  most.  No  other  woman  has  ever 
wakened  a  fraction  of  feeling  in  me;  I've  wasted 
nothing,  not  from  virtue  or  careful  hoarding,  but 
simply  because  I've  been  so  i  held '  by  Doro  that 
I've  concentrated  almost  unconsciously.  I  could 
give  her  life  as  she  wants  it.  Savardi  will  take  her 
and  lose  her  in  a  year;  he  only  wants  her  because 
she  did  not  want  him.  Already  he  is  bored  by  the 
exigence  of  her  demand  for  freedom,  by  her  entirely 


352  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

opposite  conception  of  what  an  engagement  should 
be.  He  is  of  his  type,  G,  and  a  fine  specimen  at  that. 
Big,  generous,  spoilt,  bigoted,  and  selfish.  And  his 
outlook  is  that  of  his  kind.  He  hoped,  in  the  first 
instance,  to  make  Doro  his  mistress;  he  asked  for 
her  in  marriage  because  he  recognized  that  chance, 
in  the  shape  of  father's  advent,  had  given  her  the 
best  cards.  When  I  learnt  that  I  thrashed  him — 
rather  publicly." 

"  So  that  is  the  reason,"  G  said  guardedly ;  she 
longed  to  take  his  head  and  press  it  to  her  heart  and 
tell  him  she  was  proud  of  him,  but  neither  of  them 
had  ever  been  demonstrative,  and  it  seemed  late,  in 
every  sense,  she  reflected  with  a  wry  smile,  as  the 
clock  struck  twelve,  to  begin ! 

"  I  am  damn  glad  I  did  it !  "  Rex  went  on  unemo- 
tionally. "  I  suppose  one's  made  so,  or  one  never 
really  deadens  the  primitive  instinct,  but  there's 
something  intensely  and  passionately  satisfying  in 
holding  a  man's  body  in  your  arms  when  you  hate 
him  furiously,  and  feeling  you  can  beat  its  strength. 
When  my  back  is  devilish  painful  I  think  of  the 
moment  I  lifted  Savardi  clear,  and  then  threw  him, 
and,  by  God,  it  helps  me  to  feel  better !  " 

After  a  long  pause,  he  said: 

"  Of  course,  Doro  never  knew — about  Savardi's 
first  feeling  for  her — or,  naturally — about  the 
fight." 

"  So  she'll  marry  him?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Probably  they  are  married." 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  353 

He  shifted  on  his  pillows,  and  Mck  cuddled 
closer. 

"  Y'know,  G  it's  the  most  extraordinary  thing, 
the  way  one  envisages  an  empty  life.  I  want  Doro 
so  much  that  I  can't  get  a  perspective  of  life  with- 
out her.  One  would  think  love  must  meet  a  love 
such  as  mine,  to  make  a  complete  thing — but  it 
doesn't.  Married,  she'll  be  the  same  to  me.  I  can't 
feel,  shall  not  be  able  to,  as  men  say  they  do,  when 
the  woman  they  love  marries,  that  it's  as  if  she  were 
dead  to  them.  Dead !  When  she  breathes  and  laughs 
and  moves  in  the  world,  and  you  might  see  her  any 
minute!  If  she  were  dead  you'd  be  at  peace,  and 
there  is  no  peace  for  any  lover  whilst  another  man 
lives  and  takes  his  fill.  I  would  to  God  I  had  killed 
Savardi,  and  paid  for  it." 

When  his  voice  ceased  it  was  as  if  a  brilliant 
tongue  of  flame  died  utterly  to  ash;  the  air  had 
vibrated  to  passion,  now  it  was  void,  exhausted 
utterly.  G  knew  she  had  nothing  to  say  to  him; 
she  had  never  dreamt  he  felt,  could  feel,  like  this; 
she  had  believed  his  casualness  signified  a  patient, 
easy  love;  she  now  discovered  that  tranquil  self- 
possession  to  be  an  assumption;  below  it  glowed 
white-hot  idolatry,  allied,  tis  is  so  often  the  case, 
to  primitive  instincts. 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  imagine  him  fighting 
Savardi ;  it  was  even  more  strange  to  recognize  utter 
truth  in  that  headlong  statement,  "  I  wish  to  God 
I  had  killed  Savardi,  and  paid  for  it." 


354  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,"  G  said  wearily. 

Rex  gave  a  short  laugh,  meant  to  convey  comfort, 
to  lighten  the  impression  of  his  last  words. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said  hurriedly. 

They  spoke  of  other  things,  but  G  went  to  her 
room  fighting  an  intense  depression;  life  itself 
seemed  empty,  as  ashen  at  that  moment  when  Rex's 
voice  had  ceased  and  silence  swathed  them  in  its 
numb  folds. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"My  heart  was  winter-bound  until 

I  heard  you  sing; 
O  voice  of  Love,  hush  not,  but  fill 
My  life  with  spring! 

"  My  hopes  were  homeless  things  before 

I  saw  your  eyes; 

O  smile  of  Love,  close  not  the  door 
To  paradise! 

"  My  dreams  were  bitter  once,  and  then 

I  found  them  bliss; 
O  lips  of  Love,  give  me  again 
Your  rose  to  kiss! 

"Springtide  of  Love!  The  secret  sweet 

Is  ours  alone; 

O  heart  of  Love,  at  last  you  beat 
Against  my  own!" 

FRANK  DEMPSTER  SHERMAN.. 

SAVARDI  told  nothing,  and  learnt  with  vast 
relief  that  Rex  had  left  Madrid,  and  with  even 
greater  satisfaction  that  he  likewise  had  kept 
silence.  He  had  not  entirely  believed  that  he  would 
speak — that  much  honour  he  paid  him — but  the 
subtlety  which  he  chose  sometimes  to  make  appear 
a  veneer  for  his  real  self,  but  which  in  reality  lay 
at  the  core  of  his  nature,  influenced  by  heritage  and 
cultivated  by  choice,  had  long  since  urged  him  to 

355 


356  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

distrust  the  actions  of  any  man  who  was  his  rival. 
He  hated  Hex  implacably  for  beating  him,  and  lov- 
ing Doro ;  he  respected  him  only  because  he  had,  as 
he  thought,  discretion. 

That  Rex  had  gone  because  his  love  was  greater 
than  his  hatred,  and  his  consideration  for  the 
woman  he  adored  stronger  than  both,  he  never 
imagined;  that  type  of  affection  did  not  enter  his 
code. 

He  himself  went  to  Doro  early  because  his  head- 
long infatuation  for  her  allowed  him  to  suffer  any 
anguish  rather  than  suspense,  and  he  found,  after 
a  few  minutes'  speech,  that  she  was  entirely  ig- 
norant of  the  evening's  debacle. 

Doro  told  him  Kex  had  left  "  suddenly,"  and  he 
made  no  comment  whatever ;  he  had  always  believed 
in  sparing  lies,  and,  .indeed,  in  never  lying  unless 
the  occasion  was  an  essential  one. 

Now  he  put  an  arm  round  Doro  and  kissed  her, 
then  gave  her  the  gift  he  had  brought,  either  as  an 
offering  of  devotion  or  an  atonement. 

In  any  case,  it  was  a  quite  beautiful  mantilla,  and 
had  the  arms  of  the  family  woven  into  the  design. 
After  the  observation  that  the  eldest-born  daughter 
of  the  eldest  son  was  christened  in  the  veil,  Savardi 
launched  into  an  impassioned  plea  for  the  date  of 
their  marriage. 

Almost  coincidentally  Averado  entered,  bran- 
dishing a  London  contract  just  arrived,  and 
bristling  with  exuberant  triumph. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  357 

It  was  scarcely  the  moment  for  this  announce- 
ment, and  Savardi,  his  bruised  face  flushing  darkly, 
broke  into  a  torrent  of  exasperated  speech. 

Averado  listened  equably,  bowed,  and  went  out 

after  a  long  glance  at  Doro. 

As  the  door  closed,  Savardi  had  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Madre  de  Dios,  does  it  never  seem  to  you  that 

I  feel  anything?  Do  you  not  care  what  I  suffer?  I 

wait  and  wait  on  your  word,  and  you  do  not  give  it ; 

a  little  actor-manager  offers  you  a  contract  and  you 

will  sign  at  once,  and  no  matter  when  our  marriage 

takes  place!    You  must  not,  you  shall  not.    It  is 

impossible,  I  tell  you,  impossible." 

He  released  her  to  gesticulate  with  eloquence,  his 
blue  eyes  narrowed  in  anger,  his  mobile  mouth 
quivering. 

"  I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  he  said  vehemently. 
"  You  are  my  affianced  wife ;  all  that  I  have  I  will 
give  you  to  make  up  for  this  career  you  must  re- 
nounce. God  in  heaven !  what  will  our  life  be  if  you 
forever  sing?  " 

And  suddenly  he  was  at  her  feet,  adoring,  humble, 
his  ardent  face  almost  timorous :  she  could  not,  she 
could  not  love  him  so  little  that  she  could  sacrifice 
his  love  for  a  song?  Ah,  he  adored  her  like  a  saint, 
like  a  flame.  .  .  . 
"Feel— feel.  ...» 

His  heart  leapt  against  her  hand  under  the  thin 
silk  shirt. 


358  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

And  out  of  a  whirl  of  kisses,  supplication,  anger, 
despair,  wildest  adoration,  he  was  gone. 

"  I  must  make  some  decision,"  Doro  told  herself 
wretchedly,  and  again  she  longed  for  Rex,  his  im- 
partiality, the  sense  of  cool  support  he  gave  some- 
how. 

She  must  choose  one  way  or  the  other :  and  if  she 
chose  a  career,  what  then? 
Just  a  career. 
If  she  chose  marriage? 

Ah,  well!  A  devotion,  someone  to  belong  to,  to 
laugh  with,  a  sharer  of  life.  .  .  . 

But  if  Savardi  had  only  been  willing  to  share  her 
life  a  little. 

"  I  want  the  impossible,"  she  told  herself  with 
bleak  truth.  "  A  man  who  will  let  me  be  myself,  and 
his  as  well ! " 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  settling  up  the  end  of 
the  season,  arranging  the  future,  disputing  it, 
Tony's  old  enemy,  malaria,  claimed  him;  he  was 
ordered  back  to  England  immediately. 

Savardi,  secretly  furious,  could  do  no  less  than 
commiserate  and  agree  that  Doro  must  accompany 
him. 

Tony  had  never  imagined  she  would  not.  Savardi 
and  he  had  one  quality  at  least  in  common,  a  superb 
selfishness. 

Averado  travelled,  too,  to  London,  enacting,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  his  John  the  Baptist  role,  his 
rendering  of  it  shining  out  with  special  success  at 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  359 

railway  stations  and  on  the  way  to  the  dining  car. 

He  said  nothing  of  work,  but  his  soul  exulted  that 
he  and  Doro  would  be  in  London  at  the  same  time. 
Covent  Garden  was  his  Mecca  and  Paradise,  and 
each  mile  nearer  to  it  filled  him  with  joy. 

Savardi  left  them  at  Paris ;  he  was  to  fetch  Doro 
later. 

As  he  stood  on  the  ugly,  dark,  Gare  du  Nord  plat- 
form, bareheaded,  smiling  at  Doro,  he  seemed  very 
securely  young  and  self-confident.  Their  hands 
clasped,  Savardi  sighed  with  Spanish  sentiment, 
and  his  blue  eyes  glittered  for  a  second  as  his  glance 
crossed  that  of  an  extremely  pretty  midinette 
tripping  towards  the  barrier. 

"  I  shall  think  every  minute  only  of  you  until  we 
meet,"  he  said  to  Doro;  the  train,  already  moving, 
caught  his  words  and  crushed  them  in  its  jaws  of 
noise;  Savardi  turned  away  and  began  to  walk 
swiftly;  Doro  watched  him,  and  as  she  did  so  she 
seemed  to  lose  the  impression  she  had  had  of  him 
so  long,  and  be  became,  mysteriously,  merely  a 
good-looking  young  man  in  search  of  adventure. 

The  parting  brought,  as  it  often  does,  reaction; 
now  it  seemed  possible  to  feel  a  sense  of  an  (para- 
doxically) oppressive  relief.  At  any  rate,  the  jour- 
ney had  begun,  and  that  meant  respite  from  fare- 
wells, from  protestations. 

For  a  little  while  now  she  could  rest,  safe  from 
adoration  or  adjuration. 


360  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

"  I  am  impossible,"  she  told  herself  with  chagrin. 
"  I  accept  without  gratitude,  and  yet  want  with- 
out knowledge,  and  am  all  the  time  dissatisfied  be- 
cause I  am  not  understood !  " 

Throughout  the  journey  that  sense  of  harassing 
futility  held  her. 

For  self -comfort  she  adopted  the  creed  of  reaction 
and  overtiredness,  and  found  in  neither  any  real 
satisfaction  or  any  antidote  to  her  mood  of  lethargic 
inappreciation. 

Even  being  in  town  again  gave  her  no  quickening 
pulse.  Victoria  looked  as  if  she  had  never  left  it, 
or  rather  just  as  she  had  left  it  years  before. 

The  Stafford  Hotel,  whither  Tony  decreed  they 
should  go  for  the  night,  was  as  exclusive  and  im- 
posing as  ever;  the  same  heat  haze  hung  over  the 
streets  of  dusk  as  had  hung  that  other  summer.  .  .  . 

"  I'm  off  to  bed  early,  m'dear,"  Tony  announced. 
"  S'pose  you'll  not  be  late?  " 

"  I'll  sit  up  a  little  longer,  I  think,"  Doro  an- 
swered. She  carried  a  chair  to  the  window,  and 
lay  back  in  it,  gazing  at  the  stars. 

To-morrow — Hurstpoint  and  Eex.  .  .  . 

What  was  Savardi  doing  now? 

Had  he  caught  up  the  pretty  girl  with  the  arched 
eyebrows? 

How  many  women  became  engaged  because  it 
seemed  the  easiest  thing  to  do,  from  a  desire  of  con- 
quest, or  that  fatal  and  cruel  kindness  which 
actually  springs  from  vanity,  and,  whilst  declaring 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  301 

its  foundation  to  be  an  inability  to  hurt,  cloaks  its 
real  mainspring  of  existence? 

She  supposed  Savardi  and  she  would  "settle 
down."  Life  seemed  singularly  meaningless  in  some 
ways :  one  took  what  came  because  it  came. 

She  clasped  her  hands  behind  her  head. 

Had  every  atom  of  fire  really  burnt  out  of  her 
after  Pan's  death? 

London  brought  him  back  so  nearly,  and  this 
memory  made  her  feel  very  lonely,  reached  certain 
depths  in  her  which  responded  with  an  aching  sad- 
ness; Savardi's  love  had  touched  her  superficially, 
but  that  touch  had  laid  open  the  way  for  this  deeper 
feeling. 

Oh,  once  again,  once  again,  if  only  for  a  little 
while,  to  feel  even  a  fraction  of  that  wildly  sweet 
emotion  she  had  felt  before. 

Oh,  for  something,  for  someone,  to  matter  vividly, 
beyond  all  telling.  .  .  . 

Savardi  was  marrying  her  because  he  could  gain 
her  no  other  way  .  .  .  after  a  frustrated  effort  to 
escape  the  tie ! 

She  smiled  bitterly  in  the  starry  darkness. 

She  was  so  modern,  so  accepting  of  all  things, 
that  she  could  smile. 

"  Oh  heavens,  how  much  one  is  influenced  by 
nothing  at  all ! "  she  told  herself  with  sad  amuse- 
ment. 

Blankness    of    life    had    made    her    encourage 


362  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

Savardi,  and  only  weakness  prevented  her  breaking 
with  him. 

To-night  life  seemed  a  waste;  she  felt  as  if  she 
were  looking  on  a  fete  where  she  might  not  enter. . . . 

A  knock  came  at  the  door.  Tony's  man  laid  the 
late  papers  on  the  table. 

She  asked  if  Tony  had  gone  to  sleep,  bade  the 
man  good  night,  and,  as  the  door  closed,  walked  to 
the  table  and  lifted  a  paper  and  opened  it. 

A  small  head-line  drew  her  gaze  instantly ;  it  con- 
tained Rex's  name,  and  below  was  printed  the  news 
that  he  was  lying  dangerously  ill  at  his  house  in  St. 
James's  Place,  and  added  that  he  was  suffering 
from  the  severe  after-effects  of  a  duel.  A  description 
of  Greville  House  followed,  and  Doro  read  it 
through  mechanically;  her  mind  registered  a  mis- 
take :  the  reporter  stated  the  Italian  frescoes  were 
in  the  white  drawing-room ;  he  was  wrong. 

The  paper  slid  from  her  grasp.  She  stood  quite 
still  in  the  brilliantly-lit  room,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
Rex  were  there  visibly:  Rex  smiling  at  her,  Rex 
angered,  Rex  become  serious;  little  personal  tricks 
of  habit  which  were  his  returned  to  her  mind;  the 
way  he  smoothed  his  thick,  smooth,  fair  hair;  the 
attitudes  he  adopted  in  big  chairs.  .  . 

London  pulsed  and  throbbed  outside ;  somewhere 
in  the  hotel  a  door  banged. 

The  sharp  sound  released  Doro  from  her  inactive 
self:  she  put  a  hand  up  to  her  throat  to. stop  the 
fluttering  of  her  breath. 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  363 

Dangerously  ill.  .  .  . 

That  was  only  written  when  there  was  no  hope. 
It  meant  a  person  would  die.  .  .  . 

She  thought  of  Eex  dead — Hex,  who  so  loved  life. 

And  then — Rex,  with  his  sense  of  humour,  fight- 
ing a  duel!  .  .  . 

Her  mind  linked  the  day  of  his  departure,  its 
secrecy,  his  casual  note  of  farewell ;  he,  who  was  so 
courteous  a  being  .  .  .  Savardi's  bruised  face  and 
stiff  arm. 

She  gave  a  little  stifled  cry,  and  put  a  clenched 
hand  to  her  mouth. 

And  in  that  moment  she  hated  Savardi.  Because 
Ms  conduct  had  hurt  Rex,  had  brought  Rex  to  this, 
every  atom  of  self-defence,  of  tenderness,  wrhich  her 
nature  held,  swung  out  to  shield  Rex. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  she  reached  Greville 
House ;  the  door  stood  open,  a  car  waited  before  it. 
Doro  walked  straight  in,  and  met  Rex  limping  from 
the  library. 

She  put  out  her  hands,  and  he  caught  one  and 
held  it  closely. 

"  Hullo,"  he  said,  rather  hoarsely ;  "  what  very 
happy  wind  blows  you  here?  " 

Doro  looked  at  him ;  she  stammered  out,  her  voice 
almost  inaudible : 

"  The  papers — the  papers  said " 

"  That  canard !  "  Rex  interpolated  swiftly,  his 
white  face  flushed  scarlet.  "  Surely  you  didn't  be- 
lieve it."  He  tried  to  laugh.  "  G  showed  it  me  at 


364  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

dinner:  it's  abominable;  I've  had  it  contradicted, 
of  course.  Heaven  knows  how  these  reporters  think 
of  their  lies.  ..." 

He  was  talking  to  gain  time,  to  recover  himself; 
his  illness  had  left  him  very  weak. 

Doro  said  dully: 

"Nothing  matters — the  lies,  I  mean.  You  are 
here,  alive — well " 

Her  bewildered  eyes  rested  on  him  piteously. 

"  Doro,"  he  said  gently,  "  my  dear,  it's  all  right. 
Of  course  it  gave  you  a  shock.  But  now — why  did 
you  come,  you  yourself,  I  mean  so  late?  " 

She  smiled  at  him  through  sudden  tears : 

"  I  only  knew  the  truth — so  late,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

There  was  that  in  her  eyes  and  voice  a  man  sees 
and  hears  seldom. 

Rex  trembled  .  .  .  this  hope  after  despair.  .  .  . 
He  forced  himself  to  deny  it ;  he  dared  not  believe, 
not  understand. 

Steps  sounded.  A  sure  instinct  that  they  two 
must  be  alone  made  them  enter  the  library  and 
close  the  door. 

It  was  dark  in  there ;  the  windows  were  open  into 
the  little  private  garden,  a  faint  breeze  swayed  the 
heavy  curtains  slightly. 

Desperately,  Doro  said : 

"  Why  did  you  fight?  Was  it  because — you — you 
knew?" 


ALMOND-BLOSSOM  365 

"  I  fought  because  I  hated  Savardi,"  Eex  said 
with  sudden  hoarse  ardentness;  "hated  him  for 
loving  you;  no  man  loves  his  fortunate  rival.  He 
may  respect  him  if  he  knows  him  to  be  the  better 
man.  I  knew  Savardi  to  be  a  cad,  and  he  was  in  my 
way;  I  longed  to  fight  him.  I  am  glad  I  did." 

"  But  I — I  accepted  his  form  of  love,  knowing," 
Doro  murmured.  "  I — you  must  know  that — you 
must — and  oh !  I  don't  know,  I  can't  explain.  ..." 

"  You  need  not  try,"  Bex  said  composedly.  "  I 
knew  long  ago.  I  understood.  One  does  when  one 
loves." 

She  went  very  close  to  him. 

"  I  understood  when  I  read  you  were  ill,  Rex.  I 
knew  then.  It  was  as  if  I  had  been  released  from 
myself,  from  everything  that  clogged  my  steps.  Do 
you  remember,  years  ago,  kissing  me  one  night  in 
Paris?  And  you  said  I  should  remember?  I  do — I 
do  to-night " 

He  put  an  arm  round  her,  so  lightly  it  scarcely 
touched  her,  and  yet  she  knew  in  every  fibre  of  her 
being  that  it  was  there. 

He  said,  holding  her  in  that  still  tenderness : 

"  I  do  understand — always "  His  voice  grew 

unsteady,  very  young  somehow  in  its  carefully  re- 
strained eagerness :  "  Doro,  it's  real,  isn't  it — you, 
you  really  love?  " 

Still  he  did  not  kiss  her;  he  seemed  to  wait  and 
his  waiting  brought  to  her,  in  some  inexplicable 


366  ALMOND-BLOSSOM 

way,  the  knowledge  that  he  waited  because  the 
moment  was  so  marvellous. 

Then  he  gave  a  quick  boyish  sigh,  and  whispered 
her  name. 

She  put  out  a  hand  and  drew  down  his  head 
towards  her. 

"  Oh,  yes — yes,"  she  whispered,  her  lips  against 
his ;  "  it  is  real — it  is  true — it  is  as  if,  my  darling, 
my  heart  were  at  rest  in  yours — at  last." 


THE  END 


